It was a beautiful day in early June, the sun soft on the moors, when Bella reached the end of her life’s journey. Selina knew she would remember that dreadful day for the rest of her life. Hearing from Mrs Hawley that Bella had worsened during the night, she hurried there soon after rising to find her sister in a bad state, gasping for breath, a high flush in her cheeks. The doctor was called but there was nothing to be done, except to ease Bella’s pain as best they could. At around noon, the doctor suggested solemnly that the vicar should be called, and one of the gardening boys was sent running for him.
‘My children … I must see them …’ Bella rasped in a hoarse voice, her desperate gaze seeking out Selina’s. She was slumped, resting against a bank of pillows, for she’d asked to see out of the window and across the moorlands in her last hours.
‘I’ll fetch them to you, ma’am.’ Mrs Hawley, who had been tidying Bella’s bedlinen, hurried away at once.
While they waited for the children, Selina held her sister’s hand. ‘I wish I’d come to you sooner. That I’d known about your illness earlier …’ Choking with tears, Selina bowed her head, unable to go on.
But her sister’s limp fingers stirred within hers. ‘That was my fault,’ Bella whispered. ‘I should have kept in touch.’ There was silence for a while, then her sister stirred at the sound of her children running up the stairs. ‘They need love, Selly … You will love my little ones, won’t you? Swear to me.’
‘Of course.’ Tears were running down Selina’s cheeks. ‘I swear it on my life. I’ll love them like they’re my own.’
Her sister seemed satisfied by this, and as the door burst open, she struggled to smile, rasping in a dreadful whisper, ‘Come to Mummy, my darlings.’
Selina watched helplessly over the next few hours, as the children came and went, sitting with their mother at times, then hurrying downstairs for a meal, then returning with anxious stares and pale silences. Jemima sat tense and wide-eyed. Peter’s eyes brimmed constantly with tears. Only little Faith didn’t know what was happening to her mother. Yet even she understood that everything was about to change for them, sobbing her heart out as she lay nestled against her mother, listening to the hollow drag of her breathing.
Bella passed away in the early hours. It was not an easy death, but fortunately, after a final farewell, Selina had taken the decision to send the children to bed. She knew it would leave a lasting scar on those children to witness their mother’s demise, and hoped she was making the right decision. So each child kissed Bella on the cheek and then wept bitterly as Mrs Hawley took them away for the last time.
Bella was beyond words by then, though there was still intelligence in her eyes as she kissed her children goodbye. Once they’d gone, she turned her gaze to the doctor and his bottle of morphine.
In the silence that followed their departure, she lay more quietly, as though resigned to the end, perhaps even keen to end her suffering. The doctor administered a large dose of morphine, and Bella sighed, lapsing into a coma-like sleep. Selina dabbed at her forehead and cheeks with a damp cloth, and held her hand, speaking to her in a soft voice, reassuring her sister how much she was loved, and that she would soon be seeing Sebastian again.
Then it was over, and Selina was free to weep at last. The doctor felt for her sister’s pulse, then nodded. ‘She’s gone. I’m very sorry for your loss, my dear.’
Somehow, Selina found the strength to thank him, and to dry her eyes, before stumbling away to snatch a few hours’ rest before she had to face the children. She fell asleep at last through sheer exhaustion, grimly rehearsing the words she would need to say to her nieces and nephew in the morning.
The first week after her sister’s death was a blur of sleepless nights and frantically busy days, mostly spent making arrangements for Bella’s funeral. Putting notices in the local and national papers, informing friends and family and neighbours, some of the more personal notes having already been dictated by Bella herself while she was still able. Selina spoke with the solicitor on several occasions, and sat silent and depressed through the reading of her sister’s Last Will and Testament. For this, Peter and Jemima were also present, along with a few others who were receiving small legacies.
On the day before the funeral, Selina decided to take some time for herself, to walk in the grounds in hazy sunlight and recall her own childhood, when her much older sister had been like a mother to her after they’d lost their parents.
She had penned a short letter to Caroline at Postbridge Farm, outlining everything that had occurred since she’d come to Bodmin Moor, and asking her to let Violet know that her sister had died, and that she would definitely not be returning to Porthcurno. She could have handed this letter to Mrs Hawley to put into the post, but decided to post it herself instead. There was a small postbox set into the wall of a house a few miles away, and it was a lovely afternoon for a walk. And perhaps she would find some peace in the solitude of the moors.
She had posted her letter and was on her way back to Thornton Hall, her face tilted to the sun, recalling long summer days on the farm and how she might have been out in the fields since dawn if she were still there. Instead, her only duties involved keeping track of the older two children once they’d finished with their tutor, little Faith spending much of her day with the nurse. She had not spoken much to Martha, the nanny, a sallow-faced girl with elaborate hair, who often dressed inappropriately for her job, with a hemline shorter than it ought to be and clothes too small for her generous form. But Selina saw something of herself in the younger woman, a desperation to be noticed that had led to that dreadful situation with Johnny. So she said nothing, and tried not to respond to Mrs Hawley’s tutting shakes of the head whenever Martha turned up in some provocative outfit. The girl would learn in time, and Selina didn’t feel it was her place to comment. Not as a relative newcomer to the household. And it wasn’t as though she was Martha’s employer.
Though, she considered carefully, was she not Martha’s employer now? If not, then who was? The solicitor had been tasked with paying household bills and staff wages until Peter came of age, but he was hardly overseeing the household as Selina had been asked to do as part of her ‘duties’. It was a grey area, so she could theoretically be seen as the nanny’s employer, at least in terms of being in a position to have her dismissed. This added responsibility came as a shock. She’d only been the legal guardian to her young nieces and nephew for a few days, and was not yet accustomed to that unexpected burden. Now it seemed she might have power to hire and fire at Thornton Hall, or at least to advise the solicitor on such matters. For he had so far deferred to her judgement where the funeral was concerned, not making any decisions himself. But he would surely also do so where the household was concerned. For Mr MacGregor knew little of what happened there on a daily basis.
Summer heat had burnt off the clouds and the sunshine was finally radiant when a car drew alongside Selina with a toot of its horn.
She nearly jumped out of her skin, so deep in her thoughts she hadn’t even heard a vehicle approaching, and turned to find a young man behind the wheel of a swish-looking car, its hood folded down for the good weather, sun glinting off the chrome and metalwork.
‘Hullo,’ he said with a smile, jumping out and removing his cap politely. ‘Did I startle you, Miss Tiptree? I’m awfully sorry.’
It was Mr Bourne, their closest neighbour on the moor. She hadn’t seen the young man since the evening of the dinner party, when Bella had admitted to her terminal condition, though he and his sister Helen had written a note of support soon after, and had swiftly replied to the funeral notice with their heartfelt condolences.
‘No need to apologise, I was miles away. Head in the clouds as always,’ she assured him shyly.
‘Need a lift?’ he asked.
‘Oh.’ She suddenly realised his car was headed in the same direction. ‘That’s very kind, but …’
‘But you’d like a chance to get a proper walk on such a glorious day?’ He nodded at her awkward hesitation, stripping off a leather driving glove and thrusting out a hand to her. ‘Of course. It’s good to see you, anyway. And my condolences again.’
Glad that he didn’t seem offended by her refusal, Selina smiled and shook hands with him. ‘Thank you. Are you off somewhere nice?’
‘Hardly. Some stuffy business meeting at the bank in Launceston.’ He saw her frown at the name of the town, and grinned. ‘Next big town on the way to Exeter. The old capital of Cornwall. Not a huge place but it has a good market and some nice ruins. An old Norman castle, you know?’
‘Sounds … fun.’
Cameron laughed at her uncertain expression. ‘Mouldy ruins not your sort of thing?’ He replaced his cap. ‘They have a few dress shops too, if that’s more up your alley. And a good tea shop or two. Maybe I could take you for a drive there one day?’ Taken aback by this offer, Selina stammered something incoherent, and he hurriedly added, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just thought … given your loss, you might fancy a day away from the house.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she began, meeting his friendly gaze with a smile, and felt a shock of recognition at the look on his face. She had seen that same expression on Johnny’s face too often not to know what it meant. Cameron Bourne found her attractive. And while at any other time she might have been flattered, and even interested in return, for he was hardly a dud in the looks department, the sudden racing of her heart warned her that she was in danger.
Her hands turned clammy, curling in to press fingernails deep in her palm. The last thing she wanted was to lurch straight from Johnny’s betrayal into another disastrous crush.
At once, her intended acceptance turned to another refusal. ‘But the thing is, I’m so busy at the moment, I’m afraid I couldn’t be spared for such a long drive. The children …’ She let that sentence drift away with an apologetic look.
‘Oh Lord, yes. Sebastian’s poor children … You’re right, they must need their aunt badly just now.’ Cameron climbed back into the car, not meeting her eyes again. He fiddled with the gear levers. ‘You know I served with Seb in France. He was a damn good sort. When he died, I …’ With a sudden grimace, Cameron stopped and shook his head. ‘Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear any more depressing stories. War’s over and we all need to look to the future now … Isn’t that what they say?’ He threw her a brief smile. ‘I’d better let you get on. Maybe we could take a drive out together one day? Somewhere closer than Launceston.’
‘Maybe,’ she agreed in a non-committal way, and stood back as he drove on with a wave of his hand. ‘Oh, all my best to your sister,’ she called after him, belatedly remembering her manners.
But Cameron had already accelerated away in a cloud of dust, along the winding country lane that led past Thornton Hall onto the wild desolate beauty of Bodmin Moor.
Selina kept walking, her steps hurrying now. Perhaps she ought to have accepted his offer of a lift. She’d been away longer than planned, according to her wristwatch, and the children might need her.
But that brief encounter with Cameron Bourne had given her much to think about. Bella had managed to tell her more about Helen Bourne’s past the day after the dinner party. Sebastian March had been the younger of two sons, and his brother and heir to the property, James, had once been sweet on Helen. It had all ended in tears when the two families argued about a land boundary issue, and James, perhaps naturally, took his father’s side in the dispute. He’d snubbed Helen publicly, humiliating her and deepening the chasm between their families. Then James had died in a riding accident, breaking his neck during a moorland hunt, and by all accounts Helen had been heartbroken.
There’d been bitter enmity between all parties for a few years after James’ death, but then Sebastian’s father had died, swiftly followed by Mr Bourne. And Bella herself had urged her new husband to make up with the younger Bournes, finding it uncomfortable to be at war with their closest neighbour. The disputed boundary had been ceded to the Bournes, and peace had reigned between them ever since …
Except that Helen had never quite regained her ‘bloom’ according to Bella, and it was whispered locally that she would never marry now, preferring to keep house for her bachelor brother.
Bella’s solemn funeral took place at Bodmin Parish Church. Afterwards, there was a wake at Thornton Hall. For the wake, Selina had gratefully left most of the arrangements to Mrs Hawley and her kitchen assistant, and so merely had to shake hands with guests and murmur, ‘Thank you so much,’ a few dozen times to kind expressions of condolence.
Like her, all three children had wept at the graveside. But while Selina had hugged the two girls, one on either side, Peter had stood apart, stiff-backed, trying manfully to hide his tears. The boy might only be fourteen, but he was clearly determined to act older than his years now he was the man of the house. And if that helped him cope with his grief, why not?
After the wake, Selina left the staff clearing up and took the two girls up to the nursery before their bedtime. There, she sat on the floor as though a child herself, playing with building bricks and china dolls to keep them company, while the nanny looked on disapprovingly. To her surprise, Peter didn’t vanish straight off to his own bedroom, as she’d half expected, but stayed with them, exclaiming over an old train set he’d forgotten since his nursery days, and running it enthusiastically over a circular track also unearthed from the toy chest.
When it was time for Faith to go to bed, Peter tidied away the train and track, shook Selina’s hand in an adult manner, and disappeared off for ‘a walk in the grounds’.
It was coming on to rain by then, but she didn’t stop him going. Young Peter was an orphan now and his life would never be the same again. She remembered how she herself had suffered following the loss of both her parents. The boy needed time alone to get used to his new reality and she didn’t intend to interfere with that process.
The younger children would need more help to get through their grief though. Dismissing the nanny, she tucked Faith into bed herself and even sang a nursery rhyme that she recalled her own mother singing. Jemima, listening in surprise, told her, ‘That’s the same song Mummy used to sing to us at bedtime too. How did you know?’
That almost broke her heart.
Once Jemima had finally gone to bed, and Peter was back inside and safely accounted for, Selina wandered through the empty downstairs rooms in the slow, lonely hour before suppertime.
Cameron and Helen Bourne had invited her to dine with them, no doubt intending to spare her an evening alone after her sister’s funeral, but she’d declined, deciding it was better to get used to being alone. Mr MacGregor had also offered to stay and keep her company, but again she’d politely refused. She still suspected the solicitor’s motives and didn’t want to give him the false impression that she was interested in anything beyond mere friendship.
‘Your dinner’s on the table, Miss Tiptree,’ Mrs Hawley said, finding her at last in the drawing room, where she’d turned on the radio for a little company. Her look was sympathetic. ‘Would you like me to bring the wireless through so you can listen to music while you eat?’
‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’
Once Mrs Hawley had returned to the kitchen, Selina sat on her own, spoon in hand, peering into her soup.
She didn’t recognise the music on the wireless but it was soothing and helped dispel the silence. At least it wasn’t a presenter droning on about food rationing or how things were going with the rebuilding of London and other major cities in the wake of the Blitz.
She looked about at the empty seats on each side of the long dining table and wondered idly about inviting Caroline to visit. That would be fun. Except that Caroline would be needed at the farm all summer, she reminded herself. Land Girls couldn’t just take holidays as and when they chose. The only reason she’d been released from her own work was because she had children to care for now.
But perhaps her friend could be spared for a few days … It would be good to see Caro again, and hear all the gossip from Postbridge Farm and Porthcurno.
Putting down her spoon. Selina burst into scalding tears, and was still weeping helplessly when she heard Mrs Hawley’s firm tread along the passageway, no doubt coming back to collect her empty bowl and present her with the main course.
Hurriedly, she seized her napkin and dabbed at her wet cheeks and eyes.
‘It was delicious but I’m afraid I couldn’t finish it all,’ she babbled as the housekeeper came in. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happened to my appetite.’
Mrs Hawley looked at her with soft eyes. ‘You’ve just lost your sister, Miss. Of course you’ve no appetite.’ She took away the half-eaten soup, and replaced it with a plate of cold mutton with new potatoes and spinach. ‘Tomorrow will be better. Besides, you need to eat. Your sister would have wanted you to keep your strength up, wouldn’t she?’ She paused, adding temptingly, ‘It’s roly-poly with custard for pudding tonight.’
Selina managed a shaky smile in return. ‘Roly-poly with custard? How delicious, I haven’t had that in yonks. Thanks ever so, Mrs H.’
The housekeeper was right, she thought, left alone once more with her modest supper and a fresh cup of tea; tomorrow would be better. And she did need to keep her strength up. She could hardly look after those three children properly if all she did was sit around blubbing and feeling sorry for herself.
Throwing aside the napkin, Selina squared her shoulders and began to eat.