A Bitter Truth (5 page)

The horses moved restlessly, steaming in the cold air. Lydia got down and marched to the door like a man walking to the gallows, upheld by pride alone. I followed her. The carriage was on the point of turning in the drive, and as she realized it, she called to the elderly man who had brought us here, “No, wait.”

At that moment, the door swung open, and it was a middle-aged woman in a dark blue uniform who greeted Lydia with relief, staring anywhere except at that bruise as she said, “I thought I heard the carriage. Mrs. Roger? You’re all right then?”

“Hello, Daisy. Is Mr. Ellis at home?”

“I was told by Molly that he’d gone out again to search for you. He’s been that worried.” Her gaze moved from her mistress to me, politely curious.

“I’ve brought a guest with me. Miss Crawford, from London.” Lydia’s voice was steady, but I heard the undercurrent of nervousness. I hoped Daisy didn’t.

Daisy swept me an old-fashioned curtsey and welcomed me to the house, then took my valise and led me inside.

If I’d thought this was once a hunting lodge, I was proved right as I entered the hall. The ceiling was high, there was a massive stone hearth on one side, and displayed on the walls were an array of weapons and the mounted heads of game staring down at me.

Lydia, noticing my appraisal, said, “When the house was rebuilt in the late seventeen hundreds, this room was kept. The rest is more comfortable, I promise you.” Turning to Daisy, she asked, “Where is everyone?”

“Your grandmother is resting. Mrs. Matthew is putting together the menus for the guests she’s expecting. And Miss Margaret has gone out for a walk.”

Lydia said contritely, “Oh, dear, I’d forgot we’re to have guests. It completely slipped my mind. Mama Ellis will be wondering what on earth I was thinking of! Could you put Miss Crawford’s things in the room overlooking the knot garden?” And to me she added, “You’ll like that room. It looks away from the Forest. Nowhere near as gloomy as most of the other rooms. And you won’t mind, will you, Bess, if we speak to my mother-in-law before we go up?”

We crossed the hall, passing the stairs built into the wall on one side, and Lydia opened a door at the far end of the room. Beyond was a passage that branched left and right, leading to the two wings of the house. Lydia turned to her left and opened another door into a very pleasant, very feminine little room. She said tentatively said, “Mama?”

Over her shoulder I saw the woman seated at the desk by the window look up and stare for a moment, then rise to embrace Lydia.

“My dear. Your poor face!” she exclaimed. I remembered that the blow must have been just a red splotch the last time she’d seen Lydia, and that the bruising must have come as something of a shock. “Can nothing be done for it? Are you in any pain?”

“It’s all right, Mama. I promise you. I’ve been in London—visiting a friend. She’s come home with me. Elizabeth Crawford. She’s a nursing sister, just back from France.”

Mrs. Ellis smiled at me. “Welcome to Vixen Hill, Miss Crawford. I’m Amelia Ellis, Roger’s mother. I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Has Lydia shown you to your room?”

“Not yet,” I said, taking the hand she offered me. “I look forward to my stay. It’s a lovely house.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, not with arrogance but with pride in her home. “I’ve been happy here.” But even as she spoke the words a shadow crossed her face, as if this was not the whole truth. “You must be in need of tea, after that cold drive from the station. I need a bit of distraction myself. I’ve spent all morning on menus and arrangements.”

Lydia said contritely, “And I was not here to help.”

“Never mind,” Mrs. Ellis said cheerfully. “There’s still much to be done.”

She led us from her small sanctuary to the sitting room next door. There were long windows letting in what light there was, and a tall music box in a beautiful mahogany cabinet stood between them, the sort of music box that played large steel discs. The rest of the furnishings were a little shabby, as if this room was used often. The chair I was offered was covered in a pretty chintz patterned with pansies faded to a pale lavender and rose, each bunch tied by a white ribbon. Mrs. Ellis crossed to the hearth and rang the bell beside it.

As she turned back to us, she said, gesturing to my uniform, “You’re only just returned from France? What is it like out there? My son won’t tell me the truth. He says that the casualty lists are exaggerated.”

A sop to his mother’s fears?

“I only know how busy we are when there’s a push on,” I said, trying not to make her son out as a liar. “As you’d expect. But my father has high hopes, now that the Americans are coming over. He says their General Pershing knows what he’s about.” He’d also said that we badly needed fresh viewpoints at HQ, but I thought it best not to mention that.

“Crawford,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Not related to Colonel Crawford, by any chance, are you?”

“He’s my father.”

“My dear! How wonderful,” she exclaimed. “My husband met him briefly in India. Oh, years ago. Matthew had gone out on one of the mapping expeditions, and he hoped to do a little exploring while in the north. Your father—he was a captain then—was his contact in Peshawar. They got on well and corresponded until Matthew’s death. I wonder if Colonel Crawford remembers him.”

“I’m sure he will. I look forward to asking him.”

Another middle-aged maid appeared in the doorway and then stepped aside as a tall, vigorous woman with very white hair came in. “What’s this I hear about Lydia coming back?” She turned her sharp gaze on her granddaughter-in-law, but before she could say anything more, Mrs. Ellis asked for tea to be brought. The woman, whose name was Molly, quietly shut the door as she left.

“How did you come by that nasty bruise?” the elder Mrs. Ellis was demanding. “And don’t tell me that Roger inflicted it. I won’t believe it.”

“It’s true, Gran,” Amelia Ellis replied quickly, before Lydia could answer.

“Nonsense. The Ellis men don’t strike their women. Surely a little powder will make you more presentable? I don’t hold with powder as a rule, but in this case, it’s necessary. Regrettably.”

Lydia said, “It was my fault, Gran. Truly it was.” She gestured toward me. “May I present my friend, Miss Crawford? Matthew knew her father in India.”

“Indeed. Don’t change the subject, my girl. What will our guests think, to see you looking like that?”

“I’ll try powder, Gran, I promise.”

Her grandmother turned to me then. “A nursing sister, are you? I hope you’ve brought some other clothing with you. It won’t do to be the skeleton at the feast at dinner tonight.”

“Perhaps I can borrow something suitable from Lydia,” I answered politely. I’d brought one pretty dress with me, expecting to dine tonight, but it appeared that no one contradicted Gran.

Molly came in just then with the tea tray, and Gran inspected it with a frown on her face. “We’ve hit a new low, Amelia,” she said to Mrs. Ellis. “There are no cakes for our tea.”

“Yes, dear, I know. Cook has been holding back eggs and honey and flour for our guests. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I shall write to my MP and demand to know what England is coming to,” she said, taking the first cup of tea and moving to a chair by the fire. “We had no wars in the old Queen’s day. I don’t see why we must put up with them now.”

Mrs. Ellis smiled at me as she passed me my cup. “Yes, Gran, dear, I should think that would be a very good idea.”

“Don’t patronize me, Amelia,” the older woman snapped. “I’m not in my dotage.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, Gran. There are some biscuits here. Would you care for one?”

The elder Mrs. Ellis grudgingly accepted one, and then said, “It’s not what I’m accustomed to. Where’s Roger? He ought to be here. It’s already getting dark. He knows I don’t care for him to wander about on the heath after dark. That shoulder can’t be fully healed, whatever he tries to tell himself.”

“It’s been nearly two years. He’ll be in shortly—”

At that moment the sitting room door opened again, and a tall, fair man entered. He was wearing country clothing rather than his uniform. “Here you are,” he began, and then he saw Lydia. She set her cup aside and rose, unable to speak. But I could see the tears glistening now in her eyes.

He stared at her, several emotions flitting across his face. First surprise, then relief, and finally anger. But he came quickly across the room to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. She flinched in spite of herself, and he dropped his hands at once. “My dear” was all he said, and she nodded, as if she understood without the need for words. He touched her face gently with one finger, and added, “I’m so very sorry.”

“No, it was my fault,” she said tremulously.

Gran, watching them, interjected, “Do have some tea, Roger. You must be frozen.”

The emotional moment between husband and wife was broken, and he stepped back, took the cup his mother handed him with a wry smile, and said, “I was worried. We looked everywhere.”

“I went to London,” Lydia said. “To think, actually. Bess, out of kindness, took me in.”

He turned to me, and I felt the power of his gaze as he thanked me for being such a good friend. My first thought was,
He doesn’t believe her
. Then where did he think she’d gone? And was that why he wasn’t in London, scouring the city for her? I remembered too her refusal to let Simon bring us here comfortably in his motorcar.

“We ran into each other unexpectedly. I was glad, we hadn’t seen each other in several years.”

“Indeed.”

I looked him in the eye. “I’m glad to meet you at last,” I said, to give him something to think about. “Lydia has told me so much about you.” It was a common enough remark when meeting someone related to a friend, but I gave it the slightest emphasis, on purpose.

He had the grace to flush at that. He knew exactly what I meant, that she had confided in me about the bruises. And I suspect he understood as well why she had brought me home with her. A buffer, in the event he was still angry.

“Welcome to Vixen Hill,” he said, and I knew we had a sound grasp of where each of us stood now.

He accepted a biscuit from the plate his mother held out to him, then went to sit down next to Lydia.

Gran said, “You were careful with that shoulder, I hope.”

“Yes, of course,” he answered impatiently. “But the doctor instructed me to exercise it to bring it back to full strength. You know that.”

“Exercise and walking off a black mood are two very different things,” she retorted, and reached for another biscuit.

Mrs. Ellis mentioned the guests they were expecting, and Roger said, “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Mother?”

“Yes, why not? Eleanor will wish to see Alan’s stone in its proper place, and Margaret is already here. What’s more, I think it will be good for George. He wasn’t able to stay when Alan was so ill. ”

“I doubt it will be good for him,” Roger argued. “He’s changed, Mother, whether you wish to admit it or not. First Malcolm’s death, and then Alan’s. I’m surprised he hasn’t killed himself, to tell you the truth.”

Her son’s bluntness made her wince.

“He was best man at your wedding. Your oldest friend,” Mrs. Ellis reminded him. “Have a little charity, Roger. He needs patience and understanding.”

“He’s moody and unpredictable these days. He’ll cast a pall over the entire event. I hope he’ll change his mind and stay in Hampshire.”

“You have also been moody and unpredictable, my dear.” Her voice was very gentle. “I think Sister Crawford will agree with me that it’s what war does to one’s spirit.”

Roger said nothing, but I could see that he felt otherwise. It struck me that I’d been right about his selfishness.

“It’s starting to rain harder,” Gran reported, rising to walk to the window. “I hope it won’t last for days the way it usually does. The tracks will be nearly impassable. The ceremony spoiled.”

I looked toward the windows and could see that indeed it was raining, the wind picking up to blow it in sheets against the glass. I could just make out the lawns, and the dark line of heath beyond, visible as if through a veil. I was glad we weren’t traveling in an open carriage from the station just now.

Lydia rose. “Bess, I’ll show you the house, shall I? So that you can find your way.”

I thanked Mrs. Ellis for the tea, and went with her. Out in the passage she sighed. “It wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected. I thought—well, never mind what I thought. But I was very glad you were there, all the same. My backbone, as it were.” She smiled, but there was still a touch of anxiety behind it. “My head was thundering in there. It’s better now. The passage is so much cooler.”

But it wasn’t aching from the heat of the fire on the hearth. I said, “You should rest. It’s been a very tiring day.”

“No, I’m fine. And there’s so much to do.”

I said only, “Lydia, if your mother-in-law is expecting a family gathering, I shall only be in the way. Meanwhile, will you at least speak to your family’s physician? It will set my mind at rest.”

She wouldn’t hear of it. I persisted.

“It wouldn’t do if you had problems with a house full of guests. What’s more,” I added, “the blame would fall on Roger, wouldn’t it? I mean to say, that’s the most conspicuous injury, your hair covers the other.”