Pride of the Courtneys (16 page)

‘Thank you, Louella. Jonathan and I have been trying for a long time to
quieten him,’ Bassett said, ‘ and to think you can do it so easily.’

‘I’ll stay with him as long as you wish me to, Bassett, you know that.’

‘Thank you, my …’ he stoped and ran his hand through his hair, his eyes
dark with weariness.

‘You must rest, Bassett. I’ll stay with him now.’

‘Very well. Perhaps I will, if you’re sure? …’

‘Of course.’

After Bassett and Jonathan had left, I sat in the still room and held Sir
Hugh’s hand as he slept and watched him. His face was now peaceful, no
longer ravaged by distressing emotions. But I noticed that he had aged
considerably since the start of his illness.

As I watched, pitying the sick man, his eyes flickered open and for a
while he lay staring at the ceiling. I did not move or speak for I had no
wish to disturb him. I prepared myself for further delirium. But he turned
his head slowly on the pillow, the morning light catching his silver hair.
He saw me and smiled.

‘Ah, Louella, I am glad it is you with me. I wish to tell you something.’

I patted his hand comfortingly.

‘You must not tire yourself, Sir Hugh. Try to rest. Whatever you have to
tell me will wait.’

‘No,’ he whispered gently, ‘I can wait no longer, my child, or I may
leave it too late.’

The reference to his death was not made with self-pity but with
resignation and peaceful acceptance. He was ready for death, ready for the
release, but first he had something to tell me and I knew what it was.

He was, at last, going to tell me the secret surrounding my mother and
me. It was strange that now, as he neared death, for he undoubtedly did,
his mind had cleared and he spoke slowly and deliberately, missing nothing
in his tragic tale.

‘Louella, my dear, before I begin, just reach into the drawer of that
little table, here at my bedside. There is something I must return to
you.’

I opened the drawer and there lay the missing miniature of my mother.
Wordlessly, I picked it up and stood it on the table. Sir Hugh turned his
head and looked at it for a long time. With a sigh he turned away again
and began his story.

‘Louella, many years ago, when I was a young man of twenty, we, the
Courtneys, lived in this house, as we do now. My father was a weak-willed
man who cared nothing for the fortunes amassed by his ancestors, and would
undoubtedly have frittered it away leaving us penniless had it not been
for my mother. She, Lady Florence Cunningham, had married my father in his
heyday, before he had slipped into bad ways. She was a strong-minded,
steadfast woman, an ardent believer in family tradition. She undertook to
save the Courtney name and fortune as if it were her own family name. My
brother and I were a constant disappointment to her. We lacked her vigour,
her strength of character, and resembled more the weakness of my father.
It was at this time that the Courtney dagger was sold by my father and its
loss was blamed as the cause of the unhappy story I have to tell you.’

He paused, lost in memories, no doubt. I waited impatiently, but did not
hurry him.

‘There lived in Courtney village, the Lloyd family, a respectable family
enough, well-born and well-bred, but poor. They were not of the
aristocracy that my mother regarded the Courtneys were.

‘Victoria and Virginia Lloyd were the beautiful daughters of the Lloyd
household and one glorious summer, my brother James and I met the Lloyd
sisters high on the hills surrounding Courtney estate. That summer was the
only really happy time I remember in my life. We fell in love with the
Lloyd girls, passionately, reverently and for ever.’

I saw the tears well in Sir Hugh’s eyes, he was indeed reliving his
happiness, and sadness, in telling me.

‘I hardly need tell you the rest, Louella, do I? I fell in love with
Victoria and James with Virginia, whom he later married.

‘But being the eldest son and heir to the Courtney fortune I was expected
to marry the woman of my parent’s choice. She was Emily Bassett, daughter
of Major Phillip Bassett and his wife, Georgiana, a family of equal
standing to the Courtneys. I refused because I could never love her, not
now that I had met the only woman I could ever love, Victoria. Even at
twenty, I knew with one of those rare moments of wisdom in the young that
Victoria was my one true love.

‘It has been my life’s regret, my remorse and shame that I was not strong
enough to win the furious and bitter battle which ensued between my mother
and myself over Victoria and Emily.

‘James, of course, though my mother did her utmost to dissuade him,
eventually married Virginia, for he was only the second son, and carried
no family tradition to matter. My mother was heartless and remorseless in
her refusal to allow my marriage to your mother. Had I been stronger, of
her mettle, I would have spurned the family and married the woman I loved.
For, Louella, I was a fortunate fellow in that your mother was gracious
enough to love me. I use the word “gracious” purposely, for that is how I
think of her as a woman, a lady, who in her spirit, in her character was
worth far more than the Courtney name. She was her own individual
gentility.’

He paused, for his long story was tiring, but he continued purposefully.

‘But I gave way to my mother and married Emily Bassett. Poor Emily,’ he
spoke with pity, ‘I have not made her happy, it has not been within my
power when my heart belonged to another.

‘Your mother left Courtney village, broken hearted, I believe, and four
years later, she married a distant cousin of hers of the same name, Adam
Lloyd. I met him only once some years before when he had visited the Lloyd
family in Courtney. He, like me, loved her deeply.’

A gentle smile crossed Sir Hugh’s weary face and much of the age slipped
away.

‘In fact, I cannot understand any man not loving her. Adam was good and
kind to her but I believed she only loved him as second best, and for that
I pitied him.

‘I kept in touch, you understand, through James and Virginia, though I
never saw my love again after that summer when we had met, fallen in love
and parted, broken in spirit. Seven years after their marriage, you were
born. But in giving you life, my child, your mother gave hers.’

He patted my hand comfortingly.

‘I hope you never feel guilty about being the cause of your mother’s
death, for she would have had it no other way, my child, believe me. Your
father, poor man, died a year later, broken and dispirited. He pined to
death, they said. I could understand it, for I myself, at the news of
Victoria’s death, sank into a dark and dreadful time. Poor Emily, knowing
from the beginning of my love for Victoria, could do nothing to pull me
from my depression, and I believe if it had not been for my joy in my own
two children, I should have allowed my life to drift away as Adam did. You
were, as you know, cared for by Virginia and James, and they loved you as
their own daughter.

‘As you grew older it was obvious you would be the living image of your
mother. You brought joy and pain mingled to those around you for it was
like having Victoria back with us again. Whenever you came to Courtney
Hall as a child it was to revive sad memories for me and bitter thoughts
for Emily.

‘When Virginia died there was only James left belonging to you. And as
you grew older it was impossible for a beautiful woman like you to remain
alone with James Courtney. Tongues began to wag and to remember the old
days, for, believe me, such scandals amongst the aristocracy are
remembered and talked about for many, many years.

‘So, poor child, you were brought to Courtney Hall, and I know you have
suffered exceedingly at the hand of my wife and of Millicent.’

He turned and lifted himself on his pillows to clasp my hands in his.

‘Dear little Louella, so like Victoria, I grieve to think of the pain I
myself have caused you in my foolish ramblings in mistaking you for your
mother. Now do you understand why Emily has hated and feared you?’

I nodded, unable to speak, for I pitied Emily Bassett Courtney for her
years of unhappiness and at last I understood with compassion the reason
for her hatred of me.

‘Emily knew I have never been able to give her the love she had a right
to. I doubt she has loved me for she has never shown it. Her love has been
lavished on Bassett and her fierce protection and pride in him has perhaps
compensated for the lack of love in her marriage. I hope so. I dearly hope
so, for she did not deserve such a life. It was none of her doing.’

And Sir Hugh fell back on his pillow.

‘There is just one more thing, child. I am sorry for taking your picture,
but when I saw it in your room one day, the joy at having a likeness of
your mother was too great to bear. I have drawn strength and comfort from
it. Forgive me, child. Take it back for it is yours.’

‘Keep it Sir Hugh, please, if it gives you happiness.’

‘Bless you child, you do your mother proud. I will keep it only until I
die, which will surely not be long, and then you must take it back.’

And without warning Sir Hugh lost consciousness once more.

He never regained it.

For two days and nights he lingered between the realms of life and the
river of oblivion.

I insisted that I should attend to his wants personally.

Lady Courtney overcome with remorse and grief, now the end was near, gave
way to hysteria and took to her bed.

Georgiana looked tired and strained with trying to comfort her mother and
with the genuine grief that her gentle, absent-minded father would soon no
longer pore over the yellowing pages of his beloved books. No longer would
the small book-lined room he called his study be filled with his tobacco
smoke, a warm refuge from the realities which faced him beyond its door.

Bassett commanded that I should rest, but I found sleep, restful sleep,
impossible. I was disturbed by dreaming of Sir Hugh and my mother as young
lovers, but their faces would change into Bassett and myself and then we
would start quarrelling and I would wake feeling miserable.

Sir Hugh died peacefully. I was thankful that Bassett was with me. It was
gone midnight and Bassett was insisting, in whispers, that I should
retire. He said he would stay with his father until dawn when Charles
would take over.

But our attention was drawn by the frail figure in the bed.

His breath was becoming laboured. His hands moved restlessly for a few
moments and then—he was gone and his face at once became peaceful and
serene. The years slipped away and he was almost a young man.

I saw the face my mother had loved. I saw in it the gentleness and
kindness that, in its weakness, had been the cause of so much unhappiness.

Bassett stood by the bed looking down at his father.

Stirred by compassion for him, I moved to his side and instinctively
sought and held his hand.

In that moment he was not the man I feared, but a son grief-stricken at
his father’s death, and whom I wanted to comfort.

His hand gripped mine. Then suddenly his arm was around my shoulders and
he was leading me from the room.

Together we went down the dimly lit stairs past the flickering candles.

In the hall old Jonathan waited anxiously, knowing there was trouble.

‘It’s the end, Jonathan,’ Bassett’s voice was strong but, a tone deeper
with the emotion he held in check. ‘See to everything, will you?’

The old man’s eyes filled with tears and his aged back seemed to bend
even more as his master left the Earth.

‘Of course. I’m very sorry, Sir Bassett.’

Bassett stiffened and I stared at the unfamiliar use of Bassett’s
hereditary title.

Bassett turned towards his father’s study and opened the door. We moved
into the dark room. A fire still burned brightly in the grate and Sir
Hugh’s faithful hound, Juniper, raised sorrowful eyes to us and whined
pitifully and knowingly.

Bassett stroked the dog’s head soothingly and sat down in his father’s
old leather chair.

The firelight flickered, a log fell and sparks flew throwing strange
shadows on the wall.

I knelt on the rug before the fire at Bassett’s feet.

I forgot my dislike of him, I forgot his cold treatment of me during the
past months. I forgot even that he was my husband. In that small room,
Bassett, now Sir Bassett Courtney, truly Master of Courtney, was just a
young man grieving for his father, a man I wanted to comfort.

He bent forward, gazing into the fire, his elbows resting on his knees,
his hands clasped together.

Overcome by a feeling of tenderness aroused by the look of sadness on his
face, I took his strong hands in mine and laid my cheek against them.

He did not spurn my action and we sat for a long time saying nothing.
Then, as if to relieve the pain he felt that his father would no longer
sit in that very chair, would no longer amble through the great corridors
of Courtney Hall, would no longer call me Victoria, Basset began to talk
about Sir Hugh.

‘Poor father, he had such little happiness in his life. He may have
seemed to you a weak insignificant man.’

‘No, Bassett, never. He was a gentle person who only wished to live in
peaceful harmony.’

‘He never enjoyed the life of stress and strain attached to amassing the
Courtney fortune,’ and once more Bassett’s tone was bitter as he spoke of
his family’s wealth. ‘ He’s been happier since he handed that over to me.’

He paused and his voice was full of sadness.

‘But I knew he was always there if I needed his advice. And now he won’t
be there any more.’

What could I say in comfort? I grieved for my own part at the loss of Sir
Hugh, who had recently become my friend. And now that I had heard the full
story surrounding himself and my mother, I felt even more love for him
because he had loved my mother and had also been loved by her in return.