After the War Is Over (19 page)

“I hadn’t expected you until later.”

“I took the express north.”

“Did you only bring the two cases?”

“Yes. I didn’t think I’d need much more than a change or two of clothes.”

“You won’t,” she said, and then she remembered to smile. “Come along in. I’ve made
some scones, and the kettle is singing.”

“Lovely.”

“You must be tired,” she said. “Go on into the sitting room. I’ll deal with your things.”

She picked up his bags, and then set them down again right away. Far too heavy for
a few changes of clothing.

“Edward?”

“Yes?”

“I must ask if you brought any spirits with you.”

His answering smile was brittle. “What do you think?”

“Very well. Do I have your permission to go through your bags?”

“What if I say no?”

“Then I will leave immediately.”

“Very well. Do your worst.”

She took his bags upstairs, one at a time, and set them upon his bed. She unpacked
his clothes and put them away, and then she transferred the half-dozen bottles of
brandy she had discovered, and the packets of cigarettes, into one of the now empty
cases. This she brought back downstairs.

Working quickly, fearful that he would come in and object, she poured the brandy down
the sink. The cigarettes went into the rubbish.

That accomplished, she poured cups of tea for them both, and piled a plate high with
currant scones, which she split and buttered.

“Will you have some tea and scones?” she asked as she brought in the tray.

“I’d rather have coffee.”

“We don’t have any. Milk and sugar?”

“I take it black. You know, Nurse Brown, you could have taught Torquemada a thing
or two.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted, sipping her tea.

After a moment he opened his eyes and reached for a scone. He ate it, and then another,
and he even drank his tea.

Charlotte sat opposite him, in her own rather battered old armchair, and let the contentment
of the moment wash over her. The cottage was really quite charming, far nicer than
she had hoped. Edward had allowed her to confiscate his brandy and cigarettes without
raging at her, or abandoning the entire enterprise before they had even begun.

She hadn’t burned the scones.

This wasn’t forever. It wasn’t a life she could ever allow herself to miss, or to
love. But for now, for today, it was enough.

Cumbria, England

July 1911

I
can’t bear the thought of your leaving,” Lilly grumbled for at least the tenth time
that day.

“I know. I’m very sorry to be going, but you’re eighteen now. We always knew this
day was coming.”

“If only Mama would allow you to remain as my chaperone . . .”

As much as Charlotte would miss Lilly, she was more than ready for a change; but it
wouldn’t do to admit such a thing to her pupil. “I’m certain there are other ladies
better suited to such duties. Besides, it’s time that we both made our way in the
world.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I shall always be your friend.
Always
. And if we are to be friends, you must call me Charlotte. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes, please—Charlotte.”

“Thank you, Lilly. See? We are peers now, both of us women grown.”

They were returning from a walk to Haverthwaite, the
closest village to Cumbermere Hall, having posted some letters and bought some new
stationery for Lilly. Tomorrow was Charlotte’s last day, for she was catching a train
home to Somerset in the morning. Not without regrets, of course, for she was justifiably
concerned for Lilly. All attempts at persuading Lord and Lady Cumberland to allow
their daughter to attend university had failed; even Lord Ashford had been unable
to move them. University for women, according to the countess, was a lamentably middle-class
conceit, and that was that.

“I don’t think I would be quite so upset about your leaving if I had something to
look forward to. Something worthwhile to anticipate.”

“I know,” Charlotte soothed. “But there’s no harm in having a bit of fun. That’s what
being eighteen is all about.”

“Would you have wanted this for yourself when you were my age?”

“To be perfectly honest, no. I never did. But then I was a bit of an odd duck.”

“It’s so unfair.”

“Perhaps. But many things in this world are unfair, and a great deal of them are far
more unpleasant than putting on pretty clothes and going to balls and parties. And,
besides, it’s only for a few weeks. By the middle of August the Season will be over
and you can return here for the winter.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am. Now, I need to finish packing my things, and you need to have a rest
before dinner. Your brother—”

“Here he is now! Look, there’s his motorcar coming up the drive.”

Moments later the four-seater coupe roared past them, covering both women in a layer
of dust from the road, and nearly
deafening them with the roar of its engine. Lord Ashford pulled to a halt at the foot
of the front entrance to the hall, not even bothering to park the motorcar properly,
and jumped out.

“May I run to him? Please?” Lilly begged. “It’s been ages since his last visit.”

“Of course you may. I’ll be right behind you.”

Not for anyone, excepting perhaps the reanimated spirits of William Shakespeare or
Jane Austen, would Charlotte embarrass herself by running pell-mell down a country
lane. She took her time, instead, keen to retain some measure of personal dignity
in front of Lord Ashford and his friends.

He was swinging his sister around in circles, lifting her high, just as one might
treat a small child, but rather than interfere, Charlotte simply waited for him to
set Lilly down. She was leaving in a matter of hours; what was the point of arguing
with the man?

“Charles, Seymour, Billy: allow me to present my youngest sister, Lady Elizabeth Neville-Ashford.”

Lilly shook their hands and greeted them prettily, which would have pleased Charlotte
had the men she was meeting been of better character. They answered her charmingly
enough, but there was an air of dissipation about them, a determined sort of indolence,
that made her skin crawl. What was Lord Ashford thinking to bring such men to stay
with his family?

“Edward, did you know that Miss Brown is leaving tomorrow?”

“I did, sweet pea, and I’m sorry to hear it. Is she—”

“Good afternoon, Lord Ashford.”

“Miss Brown, I do beg your pardon. I’m afraid I didn’t see you there. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“All set for your journey home?”

“I believe I am.”

“Gentlemen, allow me to present Miss Charlotte Brown. Miss Brown has been my sister’s
governess for these past four years, but is leaving us tomorrow. Miss Brown, allow
me to present Lord Charles Milford, Seymour Ardley, and William Thorpe-Davison.”

His friends came forward, each shaking her hand in turn, but one of them—Mr. Ardley,
if she remembered correctly, looked her over from hat to hem and then, one eyebrow
raised, gifted her with a revoltingly oleaginous grin. It was all she could do not
to wipe her hand against her skirts.

“If you would excuse us, Lord Ashford, we ought to be on our way.”

“Of course. Forgive me for delaying you. I do hope to see you again before you leave.”

Charlotte could think of no correct way to respond to such a statement, for he had
only spoken out of courtesy. Not for a moment did she believe he truly wished to see
or speak to her, no more than he might wish to sit down and take tea with the housekeeper.
So she nodded, and smiled, and led Lilly up the front steps and out of the too-bright
afternoon sun.

A
FTER
L
ILLY HAD
gone to bed that evening, and once Charlotte had packed away the last of her things,
there was nothing much to do. She hadn’t the heart to go downstairs and sit with Mrs.
Forster one last time, nor could she bear to sit in her little bedroom, which would
soon show no evidence of her having lived in it for much of the past four years.

She had left out the airiest of her summer shawls, and
after drawing it about her shoulders she hurried down the back stairs to the kitchens
and, without stopping to chat with anyone, slipped outside into the cool, soft air
of a midsummer evening. She would go to the pergola in the corner, the one nearly
smothered in honeysuckle blossoms, and look at the stars for a while.

She had only been there for a quarter hour when she heard the men she’d met that afternoon,
their voices blurred by too much wine and port. Lord Ashford was with them, his speech
familiar and yet somehow foreign. But then, she’d never encountered him when he was
intoxicated. Tonight he spoke as if someone had erased the edges from his voice, leaving
it sibilant, persuasive, even sensuous.

She drew herself deeper into the shadows, praying they would not notice her as they
passed by, but instead they stopped at the parterre that backed onto her pergola.
She would have to go; it wouldn’t do to—

“Saw that little governess making calf eyes at you earlier,” said one of the men.
“You know you need to watch out for ones like her. The maids’re easy to buy off, but
one like that—”

“Essackly,” hiccuped another friend. “She’s one a’ those respec, restec, respectable
types. Might even have some ideas about climbing a few rungsh a’ the shocial ladder.”

Charlotte couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She might as well have been glued to the
pergola. If only she could stand, run away, even raise her hands to cover her ears—

“She’s plain, but those types have hidden depths,” said a third man, the same one,
she realized, who had looked at her so avidly that afternoon. “You never know what’s
lurking beneath a set of spectacles and a shabby gown.”

Why were they saying such things? And why was Lord Ashford
not defending her? He had insisted, more than once over the course of their acquaintance,
that he was her friend. So why would he remain silent at such a moment?

At last he spoke up, his voice so languid and carefree he might have been talking
of the weather. “Miss Brown is pretty enough, but she’s as cold as charity. Trust
me.”

His friends roared with laughter, hooting and barking like the jackals they were.
“Turned you down flat, did she?”

“In a manner of speaking. At any rate, she’s not worth your bother. I assure you of
that.”

His admission was followed by more gales of laughter at her expense, and without conscious
thought Charlotte found herself on her feet, running silently back the way she had
come, back to the safety and sanctuary of her room.

S
HE SAID A
private good-bye to Lilly the next morning, the two of them alone in the nursery
sitting room; the poor girl had not wished for anyone else to see her crying, and
though they had both done their best to be brave, a great deal of tears were shed
before Charlotte was able to pull away.

“I shall write to you the instant I arrive in Somerset, and you must promise to send
me a reply by return post. Do you promise?”

“I do. Bon voyage, Charlotte. And thank you for everything.”

She was waiting at the side door downstairs, having made her farewells to the other
servants, when the rumble of a motorcar caught her attention. John Pringle had said
he would be taking her to Penrith in the two-seater carriage, for he knew how much
she disliked riding in motorcars. Perhaps old Bill had gone lame again.

She stepped down, hauling her carpetbag and valise with her, and only belatedly realized
that Lord Ashford, not John Pringle, was driving the car.

“I thought I would take you into Penrith myself.”

“No, thank you. I’m quite all right.”

“No choice in the matter, I’m afraid. I’ve already told John Pringle not to come.
The horse isn’t even harnessed. If you don’t come with me you’ll miss your train.”

As much as she loathed the notion of going anywhere with him, and couldn’t even bear
to look at the man, there was nothing for it but to get into his damnable motorcar.
She had told her parents she would be arriving on the evening train, and they would
worry terribly if she were delayed.

The one good thing about motorcars was the loudness of their engines. This vehicle
was particularly noisy, which meant they passed the entire journey without exchanging
a word. Only once they had pulled into the station forecourt, and Lord Ashford had
switched off the ignition, was any kind of conversation possible.

“Let me carry your bags to the platform,” he offered.

“I’m quite all right—I don’t need your help. Good-bye, Lord—”

“What is wrong, Miss Brown? You aren’t crying, are you?”

“No,” she lied. “I’ve some dust in my eyes. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you.” He took her bags, led her to a bench by the station doors,
and offered her a handkerchief.

“Are you upset about Lilly? I will keep an eye on her, you know. Or are you sad to
be leaving? I did try to persuade my parents, but they were adamant that she make
her debut. Although, really, you never know. She might end up meeting a decent enough
fel—”

It had to come out. She couldn’t bear it anymore. “I heard you. Last night in the
garden, I heard what you said about me. I didn’t mean to—I was sitting there, and
your friends just started talking about me.”

Every particle of color drained from his face. “Oh, God. What an ass you must think
me.”

Charlotte let silence be her answer. He cleared his throat, and then scrubbed his
hands through his hair.

“I am sincerely sorry. I had absolutely no right to speak of you in such a discourteous
fashion. I say that wholeheartedly, Miss Brown. Although I only said what I did because
I wanted . . . I didn’t want them to think . . .”

Again she said nothing, preferring to watch him flounder about like a fish at the
bottom of a boat.

“The truth is that I don’t think you’re plain or unattractive or—”

“Cold as charity?”

He winced, screwing his eyes shut at the memory of his words. “Please forgive me.
I was honestly trying to protect you. I was worried, you know, that if they were to
see you as I do . . .”

“And how is that?” she asked, her anger suddenly smothered by curiosity.

“As a friend, of course. But also as an intelligent, capable, and lovely young woman.
Not as a servant, no matter what they and my parents might think.”

“But I am a servant. Or I was, until a few minutes ago.”

“Never to me. You must know that.”

“I . . . I suppose I do.”

“Can you forget what I said? Allow us to part as friends?”

“Yes. If only because the ones you have aren’t worthy of you.” It was madness to speak
so boldly to him, but what did she stand to lose?

“Perhaps not, but they make me laugh. They’re fun.”

“But you’re all grown men. Surely it’s time you stopped thinking about such childish
things.”

“And what?” he asked, irritation sharpening his voice. “Seek out employment somewhere?
See if any of the collieries are hiring?”

“Yes, if only to teach you the value of hard work, and open your eyes to the world
around you.”

He shook his head unhappily. “You don’t understand.”

“I think I do. Your parents have indulged your every whim, your every desire, and
like a glutton at a feast you’ve sated yourself. You’re bored, and you haven’t the
faintest idea what to do with yourself. So you float through life, spending your time
with men who are beneath you, spending your father’s money as if it’s water flowing
from a tap, and ignoring anything and anyone that might direct you to a life of purpose
and worth . . .”

As the full measure of what she had just said rang in her ears, Charlotte’s mouth
went dry with fear. He couldn’t sack her, but he might decide to withhold his letter
of reference. Why, oh why, had she said such things to him?

“I don’t think anyone has ever spoken to me so passionately before,” he said, his
voice surprisingly gentle, a rueful smile on his face. “With the possible exception
of Robbie, that is.”

“Your friend from Oxford? The doctor?”

“Yes. He has never indulged me, nor do you. And as much as I should like to continue
this conversation, I can hear your train approaching.”