A Place of Secrets (47 page)

“Jude.”

She turned. And there was Euan, hurrying to meet her, real and warm and everything she hoped for. Reaching
her side, he hesitated for the briefest of moments and she was nearly undone. There were things between them still, things unsaid. They hugged one another; she caught a delicious scent of soap and new-mown hay, and her skin tingled as his cheek brushed hers. They stood together, studying one another. His face was browner than ever, she saw, and the color of his eyes made deeper by the soft blue and
cream shirt, worn casually over a grey T-shirt and the usual jeans. He said, “Aren’t you coming in?” He hefted her bag out of the trunk and she followed him up to the house.

* * *

“So this clue you wouldn’t tell me about on the phone…,” she reminded him. She’d told him all about Lucille, but he’d insisted on waiting to tell her his news. They were sitting out on garden chairs by the caravan
with glasses of ice-cold wine and Euan was coaxing the barbecue into life. The meadow needed mowing again, she noted, drawing her bare knees up out of the itchy grass.

“Yes. Your grandmother came over on Tuesday,” Euan replied, adding more charcoal to the hungry flames.

“She came here? Really? I got the impression she didn’t want to see how the house had changed.”

“I think finding out about
Tamsin has made a difference. She wheedled my phone number out of Claire. Asked me if I’d mind fetching her. So I brought her over to tea.”

“That’s very good of you.”

“No, not at all. It was rather fascinating. She showed me around my own house, told me how everything had been when she was a child. She’s got some great stories, and when I took her home we looked at some more of her photographs
from that box we got down from the loft. And she showed me something else, too. This is the clue. Did you ever see your old family Bible?”

“Yes, ages ago, though. Gran kept it in the cupboard with her phone directories and some old sailing manuals of Grandad’s. Its endpapers and flyleaves had been used, as was common in many families, to record Bennett deaths and marriages back through the generations.”

“It’s a fascinating document. We looked through it together. It seems it wasn’t only her father who was gamekeeper here, but his father before that. He, your great-great-grandfather, William Bennett, that is, was born in 1870. I don’t know what his parents did, or where they lived, but, and this is the really interesting part, two or three generations before him I found a James Bennett who married
a doctor’s daughter. Hugh Brundall, this doctor was called. You recognize that name, don’t you?”

“Brundall was the name of … Anthony Wickham’s doctor.” Jude’s eyes were wide with surprise. “But he wasn’t a Hugh, he was something else. Jonathan, I think. Wait, there was a Hugh. Esther went to the village school with him. Are you saying that he was my ever so many times great-grandfather?”

“I
was wondering that. But stay with me, it also gave the name of the girl’s mother, Hugh Brundall’s wife. It was ‘Stella.’”

Jude looked into Euan’s eyes, shocked into silence as she worked it out. “Stella means star, doesn’t it? Like Esther. Oh, Euan. It’s got to be only a coincidence.”

“It might be. Or it might not. I went down to Starbrough church on Wednesday, and took a look at the graves.
And, indeed, there was a Hugh Brundall there, whose wife, Stella, died in 1815.”

“Of course! I think I saw that, when I walked around the graveyard,” she said, trying to remember. “I suppose the surname might have been Brundall, but I remember ‘Stella’ because I was looking for ‘Esther.’ Oh, Euan, do you think that’s what happened to her? She married the doctor’s son?”

“It could be a complete
coincidence, of course, but it might be worth following up. We’ve no other clues.”

“The parish records might have more information,” she whispered. “Megan at the museum said they’d probably be in the County Records Office—1815 is too early for the births, deaths and marriages registry. Goodness, if Esther died in 1815, she’d have been fifty-three, not all that old.”

“That’s true. The Starbrough
parish records are indeed in the county archive. I checked with one of the churchwardens. You can go tomorrow, can’t you? I’ll come with you, if you like.”

“Oh Euan, that would be marvelous, thank you. But … what you said, that Stella was in our family Bible. It would mean that the Bennetts were her descendants, that Esther was my ancestor.”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

Jude was silent for
some time, trying to come to terms with that idea. “And that would mean—oh God—I’d be distantly related to Lord Madingsfield! What a dreadful idea!”

“I thought that would amuse you! Now, the charcoal has heated up nicely. If you wouldn’t mind helping me bring out the food, we’ll get this show on the road.”

They busied themselves cooking, then eating, a delicious meal of steaks and sausages and
salads, as the world around them sank into twilight and bats began to flit about. Jude didn’t say much. She was still thinking about what Euan had discovered. After all this effort, it wasn’t a Wickham ancestor she’d discovered in Esther, but her own. She just couldn’t believe it.

“Euan, why has all this happened?” she asked. “The whole story, I’m talking about—the dreams and Esther and Tamsin
and … everything really. What is it all
for
? What does it mean? It’s almost as though we got caught up in some whirlwind.”

He laughed. “Now why on earth do you expect me to know the answer to that? I’m just a simple man, your honor.”

“Still, if you take the story back and back it goes back to Esther being frightened and lost in the forest.”

“Or before that, to Lucille being taken from her family
in France. Maybe you can go back further than that. I don’t think there’s a simple answer, Jude. You’ll go blind thinking about it.”

“I suppose so,” she said, and held out her glass.

“Mmm, simply delicious,” she said finally at nine o’clock, finishing a bowl of raspberries and cream. “Now what about these moths?”

“You’re sure you’d like to? I’ve got everything ready.”

“Oh yes. I haven’t come
all this way to miss the moths. Where are we going to hunt them?”

“Up by the folly. It’s quite sheltered up there, and I’m trying to keep a regular tally.”

“How many do you think we’ll see?” Jude asked, getting up, stretching.

“Oh, hundreds, I should think.”

“Hundreds? Really?” She’d expected him to say a dozen.

“You’ll see. Now, I haven’t asked you yet—would you mind being note taker?”

“Your amanuensis?” she said, folding her arms in mock outrage, and he laughed.

“Never. We’re equals, you and I,” he said softly.

If it hadn’t been getting dark she might have seen the tender look in his eyes. For now, with the gathering night, their mood was changing. The air felt as thick as treacle between them and they moved like dreamers as they put away the food and prepared to go out.

She helped Euan haul several bulky holdalls of equipment into the trunk of his car and they drove in silence the short distance up the hill, and right along Foxhole Lane to park near the folly. When they got out, it was to breathe air that was fresh and cool under the trees, the scents of earth and foliage strong, but there was no hint of rain.

“It’ll be a good flying night,” Euan remarked, handing
her the smallest bag to carry, his hand briefly touching hers so she felt again that tingling feeling. “Are you sure you’re all right with that? Moths are fussy—they don’t like wet or wind or cold. There’s not much of a moon, either, to compete with our light.”

Together, they passed through woods gleaming elegant black and gold in the dying light. When they emerged into the clearing the looming
folly surprised Jude anew with its stark strangeness. It was theirs again tonight, the place they’d first met, the place where so many other important events had happened.

“We need to set up here, near the trees,” Euan said, lowering the bags he was carrying. Unzipping one, he lifted out what looked like a heavy car battery. “Moths don’t like it in the open. Here, grab the other end of this.”
She helped him spread a white sheet on the ground then watched as he unfolded a large box with no lid, placed it on the sheet and fitted a strip of wood bearing a large lightbulb across the top. Then he crouched down and she watched in puzzlement as he spread three or four strips of egg carton against the inside walls of the box.

“And those are for what?” she asked.

“The moths will circle the
light for a while, and then they like to hide in the shadows near it but not touching—egg cartons are perfect. Perhaps moths are like people,” he said. “They’re frightened of being burned.”

“I understand,” she said softly.

He smiled up at her. “I know you do.” Then he said, “Can you find two sheets of Plexiglas in that bag there?” She foraged, then passed them to him, and he slotted them onto
the box on either side of the bulb, to act as a lid, leaving a gap for the moths to go down into the box.

“This is a mercury vapor light, very very bright. Too much for our eyes to stand. Moths like the blue end of the light spectrum. We don’t know for certain why they’re attracted to light, but we think it’s because they navigate by the moon and stars. Here we go.” When he plugged the wire from
the light into the battery and switched it on, the bulb glowed pink, then so blue-white she had to turn away.

“Now all we have to do is hang about and wait for the moths.” He came to stand beside her, lantern in hand. “Shall we walk a bit? It’s lovely in the woods at night.”

It was now starting to get properly dark. Eerie, she thought, in this strange white light, to see the silhouettes of the
trees all around. He gave her his hand and it seemed natural to take it.

“Can we go up the tower?” she asked, some instinct compelling her.

“If you like,” he replied, surprised.

They walked up the stairs and into the little room. She hadn’t been up here since that day they’d lost Summer. It was back as it had been when she’d first seen it, Euan’s papers spread across the small table. It felt
tranquil, at peace.

“Can we go up on the roof?” Jude asked.

“Sure,” he said. He climbed the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor, and was there to help her when she followed him. When she was safely up, he switched the lantern off so their eyes could get used to the darkness.

She stood next to him without leaning on him, no longer afraid of being so high, gazing out over the darkening forest.
She could just glimpse the upper half of Starbrough Hall, the odd light on here and there. The soft nightlight—that was the children’s room, she told herself. The shadow moving at the window, she imagined to be Alexia, tucking the children into bed, or tidying their toys and clothes. Above, a few solitary stars were beginning to burn through the navy sky, between little wisps of cloud.

And all
the time she was aware of Euan, waiting quietly beside her. “I needed to come up here,” she said. “To find out what it’s like now.”

“And what is it like?” She could not see the expression in his eyes, but heard by his tone that the question meant more than the obvious.

“It feels peaceful now. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“You’ve had no more dreams?” he asked lightly.

“No. Claire says Summer
hasn’t had any, either.”

“That’s good.” But the mention of Claire was between them.

“You know it was never Claire for me,” he said in a low voice.

“I know that now,” she replied.

“Would she mind if…,” he said. “I can’t tell…”

“Are you asking whether I’m standing back, in case it hurts her feelings? Is that what you mean?”

“You’ve always been so caring of her feelings.”

She was surprised
that he hadn’t noticed how her thoughts about Claire had changed in the last couple of weeks. But if you haven’t told him, how would he know, you idiot, she berated herself. And, anyway, now there was Jon.

“I thought about what you said. About me pitying her.” So much had happened since that conversation. “I feel so differently about her now. I don’t feel sorry for her anymore. You were right.
We must each live our own lives, make our own choices. What I feel about things is different to Claire.”

He was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, and his voice had a tender little catch to it, “And what do you feel about … things?”

She reached up and touched his face in the darkness. He stepped forward and now he was holding her close and their faces were a breath apart. And then he drew
her to him and his lips moved across her face in little moth kisses and then met her mouth and they both clung together, Jude finding her body fitted snugly against the contours of his, and they stood pressed together a moment, feeling the beat of one another’s hearts. “Since you ask, I feel…,” she whispered, “amazingly happy.” She staggered slightly, as if from a surfeit of happiness, and he steadied
her.

“So do I,” he replied, kissing her again. Finally he said, “Come on. We’d better go down before we swoon and fall over the side.” She giggled.

At the foot of the ladder they stopped to embrace again, then he led her down the stairs, and at the bottom he set down the lantern and in a swift, impulsive movement, lifted her down the last few steps and pressed her against the wall, kissing her
again very satisfyingly until she complained of lumpy brick digging into her back.

Then he laughed, and brushed moss from her hair and they went out into the night.

“Look!” he said and she cried out in surprise.

In the bright light on the far side of the clearing, a huge swarm of moths was swirling. “Come on.” Hand in hand, they hurried over to the trap.

“There are hundreds of them,” she cried,
turning all around to see.

“I told you there would be. Now, where’s that notebook? Here, hold this, and here’s a pencil and a flashlight, and now we’ll have a look.” He knelt down, businesslike, amid the swirl of insects and slid out one of the Plexiglas covers. Dozens of moths had settled on the egg boxes beneath, spreading their beautiful wings like ladies in crinolines.