It was obvious that Mrs Tremayne’s words had sunk deep. The doctor avoided being alone with Anne and when they were obliged to meet in company he was correct and businesslike. She could not believe that the disclosure of her rank could have made so much difference to him. The love she felt for him knew no barriers, certainly not the artificial ones erected by those who considered one’s place in life sacrosanct. He could relate to the poor, but he seemed to have no difficulty in associating with the ton, so why should he treat her any differently? Why, oh, why did it matter so much? It should not, since she had told him that she did not wish to marry and he had no doubt taken her at her word.
Before coming to Brighton, she had revelled in her spinsterhood, telling herself, and anyone else who would listen, that she was happy and fulfilled; now she knew that was far from the case. There was something missing, something very important. She had become all too aware of it when her body responded so willingly to his caress, turning it to liquid fire, making her forget everything around her, even her own identity. It was like a hunger and thirst that must be assuaged. Was she to go to her grave never having tasted the delights of physical love? Never having experienced motherhood either? She went about in a half-dream, living again every word they had said, every nuance of meaning, every touch, however slight.
When she thought about the times they had been together at his consulting rooms, and, more poignantly still, roaming half-dressed through that empty house, hand in hand, she could have cried with disappointment and frustration. She had had a foretaste then, had known for a brief moment the tenderness of his touch with its promise of more. Much more. And she yearned for it. Just when she decided she would have to do something to ease the pain, even if it were to humiliate herself by telling him how she felt, she remembered Mrs Tremayne’s words about his in-constancy and held her tongue.
‘Anne, what is the matter with you?’ her aunt asked on one occasion when they were sitting over the remains of a late breakfast. ‘If I did not know better, I would say you were sickening for something. Or in love.’
‘Neither, Aunt. I am perfectly well.’
‘Then do look more cheerful, dearest. I am going to the mantua-maker this afternoon to bespoke a new ball gown. I have decided to come right out of mourning for the Grand Ball and need something with a little colour. Will you come too?’
‘I think not.’ Anne put on a bright smile for her aunt’s sake. ‘But I am glad to hear you are coming out of mourning. You are too young to spend the rest of your life in widow’s weeds, but I do not need to buy a gown. One of those we bought in London will do me very well.’
‘But supposing the Prince were to come…’
‘It will still do. I certainly have no wish to charm the prince.’
‘What will you do if you do not accompany me?’
‘I am going to walk to Cliff House. Mrs Smith has been working there for days now and I want to see how she is doing.’
‘It is a long walk. Why not take a cab?’
‘No, I feel the need of exercise.’
‘Then be sure to take Amelia.’
Anne agreed, but she knew the walk was too far for her middle-aged companion; they had hardly reached The Steine before Miss Parker was complaining that she was fagged out and her feet were hurting her. ‘Then you must go back at once,’ Anne said. ‘I shall go on alone.’
‘Miss Hemingford, you should not, really you should not. You might be set upon.’
‘And if I were, what could you do about it?’
‘I don’t know. Scream, I suppose.’
‘I can scream myself, louder than you, I’ll wager. Now, don’t argue. Nothing will happen to me, I am not a silly chit just out of the schoolroom. I am not carrying valuables or wearing any jewels, and I am wearing my oldest clothes, so no one will bother me.’
‘But Mrs Bartrum said—’
‘I know what she said, Amelia, she worries too much, but I can wind her round my thumb, so do not trouble yourself about what she will say.’
Reassured, Miss Parker turned to retrace her steps, leaving Anne to stride on alone, smiling to herself. Amelia was a dear, but sometimes it was hard work dissuading her from what she considered her duty.
It was extraordinary how much work Mrs Smith had managed to do in the few days she had been working at Cliff House. Anne suspected she had given up her job as a dipper in order to devote more time to it, in which case she must be recompensed, especially as she had given three-quarters of her compensation money to the fund.
‘What a difference you have made,’ Anne told her. ‘But who replaced the missing tiles and the broken glass in the windows?’
‘My husband, Miss. He can turn his hand to most things and the doctor helped him. He said it was no good cleaning the rooms if the roof let the rain in, so the repairs must come first. He is getting a man in to see to the rotten treads on the stairs. If you go up there, do be careful.’
Anne was reminded she had climbed the stairs hand in hand with Justin and for a moment she was sad, but she pushed the heartbreaking memory from her and looked around. ‘Right, what would you like me to do?’
‘You, Miss Hemingford? Oh, no, that would not be proper.’
‘Why ever not? I came in my oldest clothes especially and I am not afraid of hard work.’
Mrs Smith looked at Ann’s grey jaconet gown with its trimming of white lace and smiled. Old or not, it was better than anything she had ever owned and that included her wedding dress. ‘You are a lady…’
‘And so are you, much more a lady than many another I could name. So, tell me what you are planning to do next.’ She rolled up her sleeves as she spoke and dragged an apron and a mob cap out of the bag she had brought with her. She hoped Cook would not miss them and report them stolen before she returned.
‘I was going to scrub the shelves in the pantry, but if you are sure…’
‘I am.’
‘Then perhaps you could take that feather duster and fetch down the cobwebs in the bedrooms. We cannot paint the ceilings and walls until they have been dusted.’
‘Very well, that is what I shall do.’ She picked up the long-handled feather duster and another cloth and made her way carefully up the stairs to begin work. The physical effort drove some of her low spirits away and she started to sing, but the dust she disturbed made her cough and she thought it more prudent to keep her mouth firmly closed. Before she had been going many minutes, she was covered in a film of grey powder. It settled on the mob cap and the wisps of hair that had soon escaped from it. It settled on her shoulders and on her bare arms, along with a spider or two. She was thankful Harry had made sure she was not afraid of the creatures when they were children. She brushed them off with a smile. And that was how Justin found her.
‘Good heavens! Mrs Smith said you were working, but I never expected this. What are you about?’
She had been so busy, she had not heard him arrive and turned round with a startled look on her face that made him smile. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘Whom else did you expect?’
‘No one.’ There was nothing she could do to make herself more presentable. If he disapproved, then it was too bad. She laughed, waving the feather duster and smothering him with dust. ‘I have been getting rid of cobwebs, years and years of cobwebs. And the spiders are huge.’
‘You are not afraid of them?’ He was amused to see the filthy state she was in, but if anything it increased her attraction. She had smudges of dirt on her forehead and cheeks and her hair was so thick it had pushed its way out of the confines of the cap she wore, but she was wonderfully alive, bright as a May morning and dear to him as his own life. If she were not Bostock’s sister… He shook his treacherous thoughts from him before they could lead him into trouble.
‘No, why should I be?’ she asked. ‘They cannot hurt me.’
‘But you should not be doing this work.’
‘Why not? Mrs Smith cannot do it all alone.’
‘No, which is why Mrs Armistead is here to help her.’
‘Mrs Armistead is back?’
‘Yes, her sister is fully recovered and as I still have the temporary nurse to help with my patients, she offered to come. I have left her downstairs helping Mrs Smith. So you see, there is no need for you to grovel around in the dirt.’
‘But I am enjoying myself.’
He was about to say that, not being used to physical labour, she would overtire herself, but thought better of it. She had more than her share of energy. ‘Your aunt would disapprove.’
‘Though I love my aunt dearly, she is not my keeper, Dr Tremayne.’
‘No, I doubt anyone is.’
She laughed. ‘You are probably right. I have had my own way too long.’ She paused, but went on before he could comment. ‘But see how much I have done. We shall soon be able to paint these rooms.’
‘And I suppose you want to do that too?’
‘Oh, may I? I have never painted a room before, but I should love to try. A pale apple green I think, so light and bright and cheerful.’
‘Not very practical.’
He was smiling and when he smiled, her heart melted and her hard-won composure was severely threatened. The only way she could cope was to turn away and wave her grubby arm to encompass the room she had spent a good two hours cleaning. ‘You would rather have a dark colour that did not show the dirt? But surely that does not accord with your insistence on cleanliness? If you can see a thing is not clean, you can do something about it.’
He laughed. ‘Touché, Miss Hemingford. Apple green it shall be. Would you like to choose it and whatever colours you think suitable for the other rooms?’
‘Oh, yes, please. This must once have been a very lovely house, and I shall enjoy making it so again.’
‘But you have done enough for today. It is becoming late and I am sure you have an engagement for this evening.’
‘Goodness, yes. I had forgot. We are promised at Captain Gosforth’s for a musical evening. I must go.’
‘I am beginning to wonder how are you going to return home,’ he said, standing back to survey her critically, one dark brow lifted and a faint smile playing round his mouth. It was strange how they could tease each other and be so easy together one minute and so tense and restrained the next, as if they were constantly battling to be themselves when the proprieties of society demanded quite different behaviour, all stiff politeness. ‘You can hardly walk through the streets like that.’
‘Oh, once I have taken off this apron and cap, washed my face and hands and put on my bonnet and pelisse, I shall look quite presentable, I think.’ She hurried from the room and towards the stairs.
‘Mind those treads!’ he called out, hurrying after her.
He caught her up when she had almost reached the bottom and was just in time to prevent her falling as one of the treads gave way and her foot went through the rotten board. He supported her as she sank down to sit on the bottom stair. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No, I do not think so.’ She put her foot to the floor and gave a sharp gasp. ‘I have twisted my ankle a little.’
He squatted down to examine her foot. She sat, watching the top of his head as he bent over her, his hands moving gently over her foot and ankle, carefully feeling for injury. The throbbing in her ankle was matched by the throbbing of the pulse in her throat and it was not the accident that made her feel faint. He was being the cool professional, but she wanted to reach out and run her fingers through his dark hair.
‘There is nothing broken,’ he said, though the sensations he felt with her foot in his hand were decidedly not professional. ‘Do you think you can stand?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
He helped her to rise, just as Mrs Smith and Mrs Armistead ran through from the back of the house and demanded to know what had happened.
‘Miss Hemingford went through the stairs,’ he told them. ‘I blame myself. I should have forbidden anyone to use them until they had been repaired.’
‘It was my own fault,’ Anne said. ‘I knew about the rotten boards. I should have been more careful. And there’s no real damage done.’ He was still supporting her with his arm round her and she gingerly put her foot to the ground and tried not to let him see her wince.
‘You certainly cannot walk home now,’ he said. ‘I will go and fetch a cab.’
‘I will go,’ Mrs Smith offered. ‘It is time I went home. My husband and Tom will be expecting their evening meal. Where is Tildy? She said she was going to help you.’
‘Tildy?’ Anne queried. ‘I have not seen her. I did not know she was here.’
‘Oh, dear, where has the pesky child got to?’ She went to the foot of the stairs and called Tildy’s name. After a few moments they heard scampering feet and the little girl appeared at the head of the stairs, even more covered in dust than Anne was. ‘Come down very carefully,’ her mother told her. ‘Watch where you are putting your feet.’
Justin went up to meet her and guided her down. Once she was on the ground floor again her mother turned to scold her. ‘Where have you been? You said you were going to help Miss Hemingford…’
‘I know, Ma, but I went to play with the little girl.’
‘What little girl?’
‘The one upstairs. We played hide and seek.’
Justin and Anne looked at each other, each thinking the same thought. ‘What did she look like?’ Anne asked her. ‘Did she tell you her name?’
‘Like me. So high.’ She held her hand on the level with her nose. ‘She never said nuffin’, just waved to me to come, so I went.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She went away.’
‘Where?’
‘Dunno.’ The child shrugged. ‘I heard you calling, so I came.’
‘We can’t leave a child up there,’ Justin said. ‘It is dangerous.’ He hurried up the stairs and they could hear him going from room to room and then his footsteps sounded on the narrow stairs to the attics. After several minutes he returned, carrying Tildy’s doll. ‘There’s no one there, no one at all. The dust in the attics is undisturbed.’ He handed the doll to Tildy. ‘You left this behind.’
Mrs Smith seemed unperturbed. ‘Tildy is always inventing friends,’ she said. ‘Sometimes she insists I give them food.’ She laughed. ‘I usually pretend I can see them too.’ She turned to Tildy. ‘Come along. Pa will be wondering what has become of us. And we have to send a cab back for Miss Hemingford.’
‘And I had better go too and begin cooking your dinner,’ Mrs Armistead said to the doctor. ‘The Professor and the nurse will want to be getting along.’
‘How strange,’ Anne said, after the two women and the child had gone, leaving her alone with the doctor. ‘The little girl…’
‘Think nothing of it. Children often have fancies like that. There are no ghosts, nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I am not afraid, how can I be afraid of a small child? I am curious, that’s all.’
‘You heard Mrs Smith. She does not exist, except in Tildy’s imagination. Now let me help you to the kitchen. There is a pail of clean water there. You can tidy yourself up and I can strap up that ankle.’
‘It is hardly hurting at all, now,’ she said, but she allowed him to support her as she hobbled down the hall to the back of the house. ‘I shall be right as ninepence by the time the cab arrives.’
‘Nevertheless we will wait for it.’ He helped her to a chair, which Mrs Smith had brought from one of the other rooms to stand on to reach the top shelves of the pantry.
‘If you are in haste…’
‘I am not.’ He poured cold water from the pail into a bowl, then went to the dresser where he had left his doctor’s bag and took out a bandage, which he soaked in the water. ‘I’ll bind this up before you go.’
‘Really, there is no need. I am not hurt.’
‘I will say whether you are hurt or not,’ he said, kneeling at her feet.
She was hurt, more hurt than she could say, but it was more emotional than physical. She had felt sure he felt something for her before Mrs Tremayne had taunted him. They had been close, as close as two people in love could be. Or had she been wrong about that? Was flirting with her just another of his whims?
‘There,’ he said, tying off the bandage. ‘How does that feel?’
‘Better, thank you.’ She managed to cram her foot back into her shoe.
‘I cannot imagine what you hoped to achieve by coming here today.’ His tone was brusque.
‘I thought I had done rather well.’
‘Your job is to charm your friends out of their money, not go grubbing around in the dirt like a scullion. If I had not been here, you might have broken your lovely neck…’
‘Fustian! You are making much of nothing.’
‘Miss Hemingford…’
‘What happened to Anne?’
‘I lost her in the sea.’
‘No, you did not. You turned your back on her.’
‘That would have been a very ungentlemanly thing to do.’ He managed a smile. ‘I would find it very hard to turn my back on you. You have a way of making people notice you…’
‘Oh, I know I am a hoyden.’ She laughed. ‘You may blame that on my upbringing.’
‘Tell me about it.’ He was still kneeling at her feet, but as there were no more chairs, it was either that or stand and he did not want to tower over her.
‘There is little to tell. Both my parents died in a coaching accident when I was quite small and Harry and I went to live with my grandfather at Sutton Park. He was an important man, too busy to worry over a couple of motherless children, and we were left very much to ourselves. Harry and I would have been close even if we had not been twins, so whatever he did I had to do too. His mischief was my mischief. Nothing much was done to teach me to be a lady until he went away to college and Aunt Bartrum was brought in to school me in the ways of society and bring me out.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Every now and again the old Anne comes to the fore, making me the despair of my aunt.’
‘Is that why she is trying to make a match for you?’
‘Yes, she thinks I need someone strong, someone able to curb me, but I fear the men she thinks are suitable are those she likes herself and inevitably they prefer her. It is little wonder; she is sweet and gentle and knows exactly how to behave in society, while I am as you see me.’ She spread her hands to encompass her dishevelled appearance.
‘I like what I see.’
‘You do?’
‘Oh, indeed I do. You are lovely and a man would be a fool not to see it.’
‘Lovely and dirty. And you abhor dirt.’
He looked up at her and laughed. ‘There is that, of course.’
She joined in his laughter. ‘That is the pot calling the kettle black. You are as grubby as I am.’
He looked down at himself, half kneeling on the floor; it was a position he would have adopted if he had been suing for her hand in marriage and for a brief moment he was tempted, but he knew it could not be. He had chosen his life and he could not ask her to share it. It would be too hard, even for a stalwart like her, and if the gossip spread, she would find herself either pitied or the object of derision. His laughter faded and he rose to his feet. ‘You are right as always,’ he said, attempting to brush himself down.
She watched as he washed his hands in the bowl, then took it outside and emptied it before refilling it with clean water. ‘There, I will leave you to wash and tidy yourself. The cab will be here soon.’
The magical moment had gone, vanished as quickly as Tildy’s little friend had vanished and she was left so disappointed she was near to tears. Why could he not see what was in her mind? She supposed for the same reason she was not at all sure what was in his. Why could they not speak out?
‘Justin,’ she said slowly. ‘Why have you never married?’
‘I am married to my work.’
‘I do not believe it. I have heard—’ She stopped, seeing annoyance cloud his face. His eyes hardened and his jaw stiffened as if he were having trouble controlling his temper. ‘I am sorry, I should not have mentioned it.’
‘But you are obviously curious. You wish to know if I am capable of breaking off an engagement to be married. The answer to that, Miss Hemingford, is yes. Now, I will leave you to tidy yourself and will go outside to watch for the cab.’
She watched him fling himself out of the door and slam it behind him, her mind, body and emotions so confused she could not move. She had hoped for an explanation, not that curt admission, and now she had destroyed whatever had been between them. Slowly and painfully, not so much because of an aching foot as an aching heart, she rose, brushed as much of the dust out of her hair as she could, then went to rinse her hands and face in the bowl of water, drying herself on a piece of cloth Mrs Smith had left.
He returned, apparently once more composed, to tell her the cab was waiting outside. She slipped into her pelisse, crammed her bonnet on to her head and picked up her reticule and hobbled out to the cab, disdaining the offer of his arm. ‘I can walk.’
He handed her up and climbed in beside her. The cab jolted as it moved off on the uneven track. She hung on to the strap and said nothing. She continued to hang on to it even when they had reached the road proper and were bowling evenly down towards the centre of Brighton. Ten minutes later they drew up outside her door. He jumped down, let down the step himself and offered her his hand. She could not refuse it and stepped down on to her good foot first. When she had both feet on the ground, he offered her his arm to escort her to the door.
‘I think you should rest that foot for a day or two,’ he said, as the door was opened and Mrs Bartrum appeared.
‘There you are, Anne! Mrs Smith sent Tom to tell us what had happened.’ She hurried forward to take Anne’s other arm and help her indoors. ‘I was going to send the carriage for you, but he said his mother had already despatched a cab.’
‘It is nothing, Aunt. Everybody is making such a fuss. I shall be right as rain by tomorrow.’
Mrs Bartrum looked at the doctor, her eyebrows raised. ‘Well, Doctor, what have you to say?’
‘Miss Hemingford is probably right. It is a slight sprain that should heal itself in a day or two.’
‘And how did it happen?’
She was addressing Justin, but it was Anne who answered. ‘Aunt, I will tell you once we are inside.’
‘Then come in at once.’ She bustled her niece indoors, leaving the doctor staring after them.
Anne turned. ‘Doctor Tremayne, will you not come in for refreshment? I have not thanked you properly.’
‘Thanks are unnecessary. And Mrs Armistead will have my dinner waiting for me, so I will decline refreshment, if you do not mind. I will take the cab back.’ He doffed his hat. ‘Good day to you, ladies.’ And he was gone.
Anne allowed her aunt to help her indoors, knowing she was in for a roasting, not least because Mrs Bartrum had been obliged to send her apologies to Captain Gosforth for their non-appearance at his musical evening, an occasion that she had been anticipating with pleasure. Anne prepared to endure it stoically, to apologise and to try to make up for her aunt’s disappointment in any way she could.
The doctor returned just before noon the following day to see his patient, he was at pains to explain to Mrs Bartrum, who received him and accompanied him to the small downstairs sitting room where Anne was sitting with her foot up on a cushion, reading. She put her book down to greet him and assure him she had perfectly recovered, though when he took off her shoe to examine her foot, she could not repress a slight wince. ‘I am perfectly able to get about with a stick to lean on,’ she told him. ‘Before you know where you are, I shall be back at work.’
‘Do you think that would be wise?’ he asked mildly.
Remembering their conversation, what had been said and what had not been said, and his reaction, she knew it would be far from wise. But when had she ever taken wisdom into consideration when she wanted to do something? Wisdom might have stopped her going to the doctor’s house in the first place, wisdom would have prevented her from swimming to the cove; it would certainly have put a stop to their intimacy. ‘I have learned my lesson. I will not fall again,’ she said.
He put her foot back into her light kid shoe for her, aware of the double entendre. ‘I am sure you will take great care not to,’ he said. ‘But these things happen. You can never be sure what is round the corner.’
‘If one went about forever worrying what was round the corner, one would never live,’ she retorted. ‘We have to take some risks.’
‘Of course,’ Aunt Bartrum put in. ‘But not unnecessary ones.’
‘I promise you I shall take great care,’ she told her, though she was looking at Justin. ‘I shall diligently watch where my steps are leading me.’ She laughed suddenly; it was a hollow sound, a little hysterical perhaps, and she stopped abruptly. ‘I am sure Dr Tremayne has put repairs to the stairs in hand.’
‘Indeed, I have.’
‘Then I shall purchase the paint and brushes and whatever else is necessary and have it all delivered to the house so that work can begin in three days’ time.’
He bowed. ‘Very well. I will have the painters ready.’
He had outfoxed her. She could not say she wanted to do the painting herself, not in front of her aunt, and he knew that. Besides, there was far too much for one person and the painters were necessary. But she meant to return to Cliff House. It was where she felt happiest.
He took his leave, knowing his outburst had not shaken her off, which was what he had intended at the time. He had thought that if she knew the worst about him, she would turn her back on him, and then he would be saved the anguish of wondering and wishing, but she had no more turned from him than he had from her. It just could not be done.
He had barely left her door, when he found himself face to face with Sophie and Captain Smollett. The Captain glowered at him, but Sophie gave him a dazzling smile and slipped her hand beneath his arm, to look up into his face with the smile of a tiger. ‘Still seeing the lady?’ she asked. ‘I had thought you would have given up…’
‘If you mean Miss Hemingford, she has sustained an injury. I have been treating her.’
‘An injury? Oh, dear, nothing serious, I hope?’
‘No, a twisted ankle. It will be better in a day or two.’
‘I am glad to hear it, but how did she come to do it?’
‘She put her foot through a rotting stair tread at Cliff House.’
‘Dear, dear! But I warned you it was a ruin, didn’t I?’
‘The stairs can be mended.’
‘Yes, but how many other hidden hazards are there? I should be very careful, Justin, very careful indeed.’
Was it a threat? It sounded like it, but what could she do? He put his hand on hers to disengage her arm, bowed and continued on his way. He could hear her laughter as he went.
Anne had gone to the window to see him leave and had witnessed the scene without being able to hear what was said, but it was clear to her that his sister-in-law still held him in thrall. If they had been engaged, why had he broken it off? Was he still in love with her? It was a sobering thought.
Two days later, Anne was able to walk without a stick and she and her aunt spent a happy morning choosing paint for the new hospital. Then they set off for Bracken Farm to make the postponed visit to Captain Gosforth, though this time there would be no music.
He received them amiably and made a great fuss of Anne, helping her to a chair and putting a small stool beneath her foot, though she assured him the injury was quite cured.
‘You cannot be too careful, Miss Hemingford,’ he said. When I received dear Mrs Bartrum’s message, I was all for rushing into town to be with you both, but she had said she would send word if I should be needed and as there was work to be done here, I waited.’ He turned to Mrs Bartrum. ‘I trust I did not disappoint you?’
‘Not at all, Captain.’ She smiled. ‘There was nothing you could have done and it turned out not to be as serious as I at first thought.’
‘I am very glad to hear it.’ He paused as a maidservant came in with a tea tray. She set everything out on a small table bedecked with a crisp white cloth and, at a signal from him, withdrew. ‘Mrs Bartrum, would you be so kind as to do the honours?’
Aunt Bartrum busied herself with the teapot and the cups while he watched admiringly. Anne was amused and could not believe her aunt was indifferent to him.
‘Tell me, Miss Hemingford,’ he went on, when they were each balancing a cup and saucer in their hands, ‘why were you at Cliff House that afternoon? I thought you had decided not to go near it?’
‘My aunt decided she would not, but that did not mean I concurred,’ she answered. ‘I went to see how Mrs Smith was faring. She has worked so hard and made a vast difference.’
‘But it is still in a state of disrepair?’
‘Not so much now. The roof tiles and window glass have been replaced and I believe the stairs repaired. It needs only painting before the furniture and equipment can be brought in and then we shall have our hospital.’
‘Splendid! It is a shame it was allowed to fall into such a state, but people were reluctant to take on the lease…’
‘Because of the ghost, you mean?’
‘Yes. I assume you saw no evidence of it?’
‘No, I did not, but something strange did happen.’
‘You did not tell me that,’ her aunt said.
‘I did not want to agitate you.’
‘Do you mean it was the ghost who pushed you down the stairs?’
‘No, no, Aunt. No one pushed me and besides, there is no malice in that house, none at all. If there is a ghost, it is a kindly one.’ She smiled at her aunt’s expression of shock and eager anticipation as she leaned forward to learn more. Anne proceeded to tell them about Tildy’s little friend. ‘It is nothing out of the ordinary, so Mrs Smith tells me,’ she finished. ‘Tildy is sometimes lonely and often conjures little playmates up from her imagination, but to her they are very real.’
Aunt Bartrum shuddered. ‘I do not know how you can go near the place, Anne. You have quite overset me.’
‘Oh, dear lady, do not be alarmed,’ The Captain said, taking her cup from her trembling hand and setting it down on the table. ‘Do let me show you round my house; it has no ghosts, I assure you.’ He offered his hand and she took it to rise. ‘Miss Hemingford, would you like to accompany us?’
Anne smiled; the last thing he wanted was her company. ‘No, I think I shall stay here and rest my foot, if you do not mind.’
They were gone a long time. Anne could occasionally hear their footsteps and doors shutting and sometimes a light laugh and when they returned, her aunt had shining eyes and bright pink cheeks. ‘It is a lovely house, Anne,’ she said, resuming her seat. ‘So comfortably furnished, so elegant. You should have come too.’
‘Another time, perhaps.’
‘Yes, of course,’ the Captain said. ‘You will always be welcome, especially if my hopes are fulfilled.’ He looked straight at Mrs Bartrum as he spoke and left Anne in no doubt that he had again proposed.
‘Oh, dear, look at the time.’ Mrs Bartrum jumped to her feet, compelling him to rise too. ‘We really must be going home. I promised Mrs Barry I would attend her soirée this evening. I think there is to be an announcement of Jeanette’s betrothal to Lieutenant Harcourt. Her little adventure seems to have brought it to a head.’
Reluctantly he ordered their carriage to be brought round to the front of the house from the stables where the horses were being rested, and escorted them to it. ‘I shall see you again very soon,’ he said, handing Mrs Bartrum up. ‘Then I shall hope for my answer.’ He turned to Anne with a polite smile. ‘Miss Hemingford, if you have any influence at all, I beg you to use it on my behalf.’
‘So, he has proposed again,’ Anne said as they left the farm behind. ‘And from what he said, you are still holding out against him.’
‘How can I think of that when you are not yet settled? What would Harry think of me?’
‘What has it to do with Harry?’
‘I promised him I would find you a husband.’
‘That was a foolish promise, Aunt Georgie. I shall have words with him when we get home. You must both have known I would be too headstrong to fall in with your scheming.’ She turned to smile reassuringly at her aunt. ‘And it is as well I am, for by now I would be a very disappointed woman. Captain Gosforth has eyes only for you.’
‘So he told me.’
‘And what do you think of him?’
‘He is a fine gentleman. I like him well enough.’
‘Enough to accept him?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘I remember you said you liked a man to be persistent as a measure of his regard. He certainly seems that.’
‘Yes, he is, isn’t he? I begin to believe he is in earnest.’
‘Of course he is in earnest. But he is not the only one, there is the Major…’
‘Oh, he is too puffed up for me and too influenced by his mother. She is a friend, but I do not think I should like her for a relation.’
Anne laughed. ‘I am sure you did not tell him that.’
‘No, of course not. I said we should not suit.’
‘And did he accept that?’
‘I believe so. I think he was not serious and prefers you, after all.’
‘Then he will be doubly disappointed, because I know we should not suit. Aunt, do please give up this crusade on my behalf. If I want a husband, I think I can manage to find one for myself. I am sure Harry will understand.’
They were approaching the town and there was still an hour or so of daylight left. ‘Aunt, do you mind if we go to Cliff House? I want to see how Mrs Smith is doing.’
‘Very well, but I shall stay in the carriage. Nothing at all will persuade me inside.’
Anne asked the coachman to turn up the lane and leaned forward in her seat to catch her first glimpse of the house, then she gasped with dismay. Plumes of smoke spiralled above the trees. ‘It is on fire. Oh, Daniels, do make haste.’
Almost before the coach had stopped, a fair way from the burning building because the coachman did not want to spook the horses, she was out of it and sprinting. ‘Anne, do take care!’ Aunt Bartrum called to her. ‘Remember your promise.’
The words were carried away on the breeze that was fanning the flames. In any case, Anne would have paid them no heed. Her only concern was for Mrs Smith. Had she been in the house? Had she got out safely? Who else might have been inside? Mrs Armistead? Tildy? Justin? Terror filled her whole body, so that she did not feel the increasing heat as she battled her way towards the kitchen door.
Through the open door she could see someone inside; whoever it was seemed to be surrounded by flames. She put her arm up to shield her face, but the heat drove her back. Other people were arriving behind her, she could hear shouts of command, saw men cranking the handle of the well. God in heaven! They could never get enough water that way. And then someone burst out of the house, a body in his arms.
‘Justin!’ Her voice was a terrified shriek as she saw his blackened face and scorched clothes.
He looked up, still stumbling on with his bundle. ‘Get back, woman! For God’s sake, get back!’
She retreated, sinking to the ground as others, stronger than her, made a water chain, handing buckets from one to the other. It was a futile exercise, but it was something to do. The flames roared and the windows cracked with a succession of loud explosions. She looked up at it and then back to Justin, who had laid his burden on the ground. ‘Get me some water,’ he said in a voice so cracked and hoarse it was barely audible. ‘Hurry.’
She went to the well, grabbed a pail of water from one of the fire-fighters and ran back with it to Justin. He was bending over the still figure of Mrs Smith. ‘Oh, no! Oh, Justin…’
He grabbed his cravat from his neck, but it was so black he could not use it. Anne lifted the hem of her gown and grabbed her underskirt, pulling at the ties to release it. She stepped out of it quickly and handed it to him. He tore it up and dipped one of the pieces in the water and squeezed it over Mrs Smith’s lips. Her clothes, though scorched, had saved her body, but her hands, which she had used to shield her face, looked raw. He tore up more cloth, wetted it and laid it across her hands and arms. She moaned.
‘Thank God!’ Anne said.
‘Tildy,’ the woman gasped, trying to sit up. ‘Tildy…’
‘Tildy?’ Justin repeated. ‘Tildy was with you?’
‘Yes. She was playing upstairs. I ’eard ’er talking to her little friend.’
He looked up at the inferno, wondering if he could get back in and try to find the child, but he knew it was not possible. Strong as he was, used as he was to the carnage of war, this was too much and he felt his eyes fill with tears. The little girl had embodied all his hopes for the future of the poor children of Brighton, poor children everywhere, and now she was gone. And so was his dream. He could hear it crashing about his ears. He looked bleakly across at Anne. The tears were coursing unchecked down her face. Mrs Smith saw them too, and understood. She struggled to rise, saw the burning house and fell back in a deep swoon.
He reached out and touched Anne’s hand. ‘Look after her.’ Then he ran back towards the house and, seizing one of the buckets, tipped it over himself before trying to reenter the building. Heat drove him back. ‘Leave it,’ he told the men. They were at least two dozen, drawn by the sight of the flames to come and help. ‘Leave it to burn itself out. I don’t want anyone else to die.’
‘Someone died?’ one of the men asked.
He nodded. ‘Tildy. A little girl.’
‘There’s a curse on this house, right enough,’ another said. ‘Two little girls…’
Justin could hardly bear to talk about it. ‘Thank you for your help. I will stay until it is safe.’
He suddenly noticed Mrs Bartrum sitting in her carriage, her face a white mask of terror. He went over to her. ‘Madam, are you all right?’
She turned slowly from gazing at the flames to look at him. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No, a little blackened, that’s all, but Mrs Smith is in need of urgent medical attention. Will you take her in your carriage to my rooms, where you will find Professor Harrison? He will know what to do.’
‘Of course I will Oh, how dreadful it all is. How very dreadful.’
But he did not hear her last words; he had hurried to where Anne sat over Mrs Smith, shielding her with her body from the sight and heat of the furnace. ‘Mrs Bartrum is going to take Mrs Smith to be looked after. I am afraid there will not be room in the carriage for you, but I will see you safely home later.’
She nodded. Her voice seemed to have dried up in her throat, so that speaking was almost impossible. She could think of nothing but Tildy and the young mother’s grief, which she, in some measure, shared. She had taken the little girl to her heart and she would never see her again, never hear her tinkling laugh, nor hear her say, ‘Hallo, lady.’ She looked down at the woman, lying on the ground and a huge sob escaped her. She could not weep, not in front of the woman who had lost so much more than she had. She choked her tears back and tried to find a wobbly smile as she dipped the cloth back into the water, squeezed it out and mopped the woman’s face.
‘Where am I?’
‘You are safe. You are going to be taken Dr Tremayne’s in my aunt’s carriage.’
‘Tildy?’
She looked up at Justin, then back again. ‘We will find her.’
The fire-fighters had all left. Justin called Mrs Bartrum’s coachman over to help him carry the woman to the carriage, followed by Anne whom, after reassuring her aunt she was not even the slightest bit hurt, Mrs Bartrum reluctantly agreed to leave behind.
‘How are we going to tell her?’ Anne asked, as the carriage rumbled out of sight.
‘I do not know.’ He was looking at the building, now a smoking shell. ‘I looked all over the house. I thought Mrs Smith was alone. I should have guessed, done more.’ His voice was cracked.
‘What happened?’
‘I came up to see how everything was going and found the place already alight. I cannot for the life of me understand how it happened. Mrs Smith had not lit a fire, there was no naked flame that I know of. It is a mystery. I rushed in and went from room to room, trying to find the seat of the fire. Then I heard Mrs Smith screaming in one of the bedrooms and fetched her out.’ The account was spoken flatly, but she could easily imagine the scene.
‘Tildy must have been playing somewhere, perhaps she wasn’t in the house at all. She might be hiding in the garden or the sheds, too frightened to come out.’
It was a long shot, but they set about systematically searching the grounds, but without any luck. The fire was almost out and Justin was tempted to go inside to try to find the child’s body. It was something he dreaded doing, something he did not want Anne to witness.
‘Could she have gone down to the cove?’ Anne asked.
‘Possible. I suppose.’ He did not want to give up hope, though he had never had much to start with. ‘Let’s see.’
They went down the steep path, not speaking, their hearts too full for words. The tide was coming in and there was only a thin strip of beach still dry. It seemed to be another turn of fate, that the child might have come down here, escaped the fire and been drowned. Anne began to run along the shore line, leaving Justin to go in the opposite direction. And then she saw her, sitting on a rock about six feet from the ground. ‘Justin!’ she shrieked. ‘Over here.’
She clambered up, scraping her hands and knees. ‘Oh, Tildy, Tildy, we have been looking everywhere for you.’
‘Hallo, lady. Have you come to take me home?’
‘Yes.’ She was sobbing with relief as she gathered the child to her
Justin was climbing up behind her. ‘How on earth did she get up here?’
‘I didn’t climb up,’ the child said. ‘I came that way.’ She pointed behind her and for the first time, Anne saw that she was sitting at the entrance to a cave.
‘It must go back to the house,’ Justin said, bending over the child. ‘No time to explore it now, we have to get out of here before the tide cuts us off.’ He clambered back down the steep slope and once he was standing at the bottom, held up his arms. ‘Let her down gently. I’ll catch her.’
They were soon all three on the beach. Justin picked up the child and splashed his way back through the rising water to the cliff path, with Anne close behind him. Once safely at the top, he put Tildy down and dropped on to the grass beside her. Anne, coming fast behind, sprawled beside them.
‘Thank God you would not give up,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘If you had not insisted…’
She knew what he meant. The poor child could have been there on the ledge all night, might even have tried to jump down and been drowned. ‘She is safe, that’s all that matters.’
‘It was a big fire,’ Tildy said, gazing up at the ruin. She did not seem surprised.
‘Yes, a very big fire,’ he said. ‘But what happened to you? Were you in the house when it started?’
‘Oh, yes, I heard the flames and I tried to get out, but I couldn’t. It was so hot and smoky and I didn’t like it.’
‘How did you get out?’
‘The girl showed me. She did this…’ She stopped to make a beckoning motion with her hand and arm. ‘So I went after her. She went through a door and down a tunnel. It was dark and wet, but I knew she was helping me so I didn’t mind. It came out by the sea. But I couldn’t get down.’
‘Was it the same little girl you saw before?’ Anne asked.
‘Course it was.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘I dunno. I reckon she went back. I didn’t see her no more.’ She looked round. ‘Where’s Ma?’
‘She is at Dr Tremayne’s, waiting for you. Do you think you can walk that far?’
‘Course I can. I walked here, didn’ I?’
Justin and Anne smiled at each other; they had been touched by magic that afternoon, divine intervention. Taking a hand each, they led the child away from the ruin and back to the real world.