Secrets of Nanreath Hall (30 page)

September 1941

T
he debris had been cleared, the empty lots swept clean but for a few pieces of broken tile and smashed glass. A set of worn marble steps rose from the pavement to nowhere. The pale slash of searchlights bounced off the underside of a barrage balloon tied six or seven streets over; a new addition to the neighborhood. But low clouds and a misting drizzle kept German bombers grounded, and no growl of airplane engines broke the normal sounds of a city bedding down. London was quiet—for now.

Anna stood across the street, unable to tear her eyes from the hole where her life had once been, unable to tear her thoughts from Graham's scratchy wool cardigans and gentle laugh and Prue's wire spectacles and inevitable wise sayings. These should have been enough for her, but beyond these memories lay dim, half-formed impressions conjured from her own imagination. Lady Katherine's paint-stained fingers and devilish grin, Simon Halliday's rugged
good looks and bohemian temperament. Never in her wildest fantasies had she ever imagined—his wife.

Last October she had lost the two people she loved most—her family. Tonight, she lost the two people she held against her heart like a talisman—the dream of a real family.

She had nothing and no one left.

She yanked the chain from her neck and cocked her arm back.

“Don't do it.” Hugh approached from the corner where a taxi waited with shuttered headlights. A gleam of light silvered his blond hair and picked out the white of his shirtfront. His false leg scraped against the pavement with each step.

“Why not? Everything they meant to each other was built on a lie.”

He caught her wrist, gentling it down to her side and taking the locket from her. “You don't know that.”

“I know all I need to know. He was married, Hugh. He ruined my mother, got her pregnant, never with any intention of making it right. Your mother had him pegged. He was a bounder and a rake.”

“Does that matter?”

“Of course it does. I spent my entire life dreaming up bedtime stories about the great and beautiful lady and her handsome prince. But
The Red-Haired Wanton
was just that; the portrait of a woman who threw herself away for lust and lost everything. Nothing more.” She rested against the cold brick of the building, her chest aching as she fought to breathe. “No wonder Graham and Prue asked me to come home before I was posted. They must have wanted to warn me what I'd find if I asked too many questions about my parents.”

“But they weren't your parents. Not really,” he said softly.

Anna's body braced, as if expecting another blow.

“I listened to Mrs. Willits tonight, did you?” he continued. “She spoke of two people who loved you as their own. Who never once
thought of you as anyone but their daughter, no matter that you didn't share a drop of blood.” He paused, as if gathering himself. Eyes distant. Expression stern. She was vaguely aware he spoke to her in the same gentling tone of voice he'd used on Sergeant Greenwood. “Lady Katherine and Simon Halliday are a pretty child's story or a tragic romance, whatever you decide, Anna. But it doesn't take away from who you are or where you come from—or the people who love you.”

Piano lessons . . . evenings waiting up . . . stray kittens . . . broken arms . . . Sunday school picnics . . . hugs . . . kisses . . . advice, support, encouragement, and love.

Anger and resentment and horror seeped out of her as Hugh's words and her own memories filled her with warmth and a new calm.

“You were upset and where did you go, Anna? Home.” He gave a soft, dry chuckle. “It doesn't matter if you live at Nanreath Hall among Trenowyths for the rest of your life—though for sanity's sake, I don't recommend it—your heart will always remain here in Queen's Crescent with Graham and Prudence Handley.”

She threw her arms around him. He staggered and recovered, his own arms enfolding her more slowly. He smelled of aftershave and soap and the wine from dinner. But if she closed her eyes she could smell salty wind, wild gorse and garden roses, beeswax polish and musty wood.

It was the first time she thought of Hugh as the Earl of Melcombe, inexplicably twined with Nanreath Hall and that unbroken line of ancestors stretching forever backward in time and on into a dim future that seemed so uncertain right now.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He dropped the locket into her cupped palm. She closed her hand around it, and together, they headed for the waiting taxi.

T
he first time Anna arrived at Nanreath Hall it was as a reluctant stranger.

The second time she arrived at Nanreath Hall it was as a determined nurse.

The third time she arrived at Nanreath Hall, she was coming home.

It would never take the place of Graham and Prue's little house in Aldersgate, but there were people here she cared about who cared for her in return. That was as good a place to start as any.

Hugh tore up the avenue, the lime trees flashing past in a blur of green and gray, the snap of a sea wind pulling her hair from her scarf. The hill steepened and the car seemed to lift as it sprang over the rocky drive and there was the house, standing like a sentinel above the parkland with the line of the cliffs behind it and the blue sea beyond. The noise and the wind made talking impossible, but Hugh grinned at her and Anna smiled back.

They had departed from London before dawn that morning, spending the day on the road with only a stop to picnic from the brown shopping bag packed for them by Mrs. Willits. Beetroot sandwiches and sausage rolls washed down with bottles of beer upon an old blanket at the side of the road. Nothing more was said of their midnight conversation, but Anna felt the bonds between them coiling firm and fast.

By the time they reached the gravel sweep in front of the house, the illusion of Nanreath's prewar elegance revealed itself as the workaday convalescent hospital it had become. A queue of ambulances waited by the supply sheds, a mechanic in military khaki serviced a refrigerated delivery van with its bonnet up, and a group of up-patients in regulation pajamas accompanied by two sharp-dressed VADs and a scarlet-trimmed sister relaxed on the lawn. Still, the house, for all its battered neglect and dingy grandeur,
retained a quiet dignity, as if the passing calamities of men could never touch it.

“We're home,” Hugh announced as he pulled into the old buttery now serving as his garage and parked the car.

Anna gave a decisive nod. “I like the sound of that.”

As if she'd been watching for their arrival, Lady Boxley met them at the door. Whether it was a result of Anna's new perspective or Lady Boxley's recent illness, she seemed far more approachable than ever before. She wore a peach floral frock that warmed her pale, blue-veined skin, and her hair had been carefully waved to soften her long, narrow face. Even the set of golden topaz at her throat seemed gentler than her usual set of harsh, cold sapphires.

“Hallo, Mother.” Hugh brushed a brisk kiss upon her cheek. “You can relax now. We're back safe and sound.”

“You're a filthy mess, Hugh. No doubt you ran yourself ragged without a care for your health. I'll fix you a drink before dinner and you can tell me all about your meeting with Samuels at Whitehall.”

“I would, Mother, but I didn't meet with Samuels. Didn't go to Whitehall at all, actually.”

“Hugh! Why not? I set up that appointment specifically. It was difficult to persuade him to meet with you in the first place and now this . . . what am I going to tell him?”

“Tell him I lost my leg and couldn't hobble there on my stump, tell him I was in bed making mad passionate love to a woman I met in a shelter, I don't care. I got as far as the lobby and then . . . couldn't go through with it. Ended in a pub near Cheyne Walk.”

“I should have known. I thought you wanted a purpose. Something to keep you busy.”

“I do. Just not that purpose.”

She sighed and pinched her forehead, as if a headache were coming on.

“Anyway, love to chat but I can't. I'm meeting someone. I just have time to drop my bags and scrub the dust off.”

Her sculpted brows arched, her eyes hardening. “Not five minutes home and you're off again. Some floozy, no doubt. I've seen those land girls working the farm over at Whitecross Halt. A lot of cheeky good-for-nothings with their minds in the gutter.”

Anna stiffened, her eyes flashing to Hugh. But he gave no outward sign of being upset by his mother's accusations. Instead he laughed and tweaked her chin. “A gentleman never kisses and tells, Mother dear.”

She turned to Anna, her nose almost twitching with suppressed anger. “And you, Miss Trenowyth? I hope your journey to London was more successful than my son's.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She smiled politely. “Excuse me, ma'am. Matron will expect me on the ward within the hour.”

As she climbed the front steps, she heard Hugh and his mother in their usual barbed exchange. She should have known Her Ladyship's illness wouldn't change her personality
that
much. “. . . as headstrong as her mother” followed her inside.

Upstairs, Anna began unpacking. Clothes folded and put away, cosmetics bag back on her dressing table. She was hanging up her best dress when Tilly came in, fresh off duty.

“Welcome home. Did you have a nice trip?”

“I did. Hugh even treated us to the Ritz one evening for dinner.”

“Sounds posh. Anyone there worth seeing?”

“No one I recognized, but in uniform they all look the same, don't they?”

“I don't know. Some fill out their uniforms better than others.”
Tilly flashed her usual cheeky grin before sobering. “How did Sophie seem when you dropped her off?”

“As if a cold wind would blow her away. Sir Edmund only mentioned her unfortunate nursing business twice within my hearing.”

“Damnable war. I hate it.” Tilly's eyes shone with anger. “Just when you're happiest, it all comes caving in.”

Anna was reminded of Tony. She'd tried so hard to keep him at arm's length, and still he'd finagled his way into her heart. He'd become someone she could count on . . . and that was dangerous. She'd already lost Graham and Prue and witnessed Sophie's devastation at the death of Lieutenant Douglas. She couldn't bear to grieve again.

“Is anything wrong, Tilly?” Anna asked, selfishly hoping someone else's worries would ease her own.

“Of course not,” she replied sharply, unpinning her veil and tossing it away. “A drink and a dance, and I'll be right as rain.” Pulling off her apron, she presented her back to Anna, who helped her unbutton her dress.

“With Hugh?”

Tilly craned her head round. “I don't know. Is he headed into Newquay?”

“He rushed off as soon as we arrived back. Said he was meeting someone.”

“Probably one of those land girls from Whitecross Halt. He better watch out, or he'll find himself in the suds.”

“Are you still arguing?”

“I'm not arguing with Hugh. What gave you that idea?”

“It doesn't surprise me if you are, but if he's hurt you in any way, I . . .” Her words faded along with her nerve, especially considering Tilly stared at her like a Billinsgate cod.

“You think Hugh and me are an item? Oh dear, Anna. I can't
decide whether that's the most amusing thing I've ever heard or the most offensive.” Tilly shook off her momentary stupefaction and was now moving about the room, grabbing up a blouse and skirt from one chair, a pair of pumps from under her bed, a scarf from the hook beside the mirror, though she did it all while avoiding Anna's gaze.

“But you're always flirting with him and then there was the conversation in the stairwell and I saw you walking with him on the cliffs and you were crying.”

“Oh, so that's what this is about.” Comprehension lit Tilly's eyes as she brushed and repinned her hair. She smiled into the mirror at Anna's reflection. “I'm not in love with Hugh if that's what you're worried about.”

“But you're in love with someone. You said so. Someone whose family doesn't approve.”

“I said I didn't want to talk about it.” She applied her lipstick, pursing and primping, wiping the edge of her mouth, blotting it on a handkerchief.

“You talked to Hugh about it.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“Fine.” Tilly swung around from her place at the mirror, hurt and anger in her face. “You want to know what happened? I'll tell you what happened. I met a chap. He told me he loved me. I believed him. Then he scampered, and I feel the biggest clot in Christendom. End of story.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“I . . .” Tilly sank onto a chair, Tangee lipstick rolling between her thumb and finger. “Oh, I don't know. I wanted to. I was so close to spilling everything to you and Sophie, but Jamie wanted us to keep it quiet. That should have been the knock in the head I needed
to see it was all a hum, but he made it seem so logical. He wanted to tell his grandmother before she heard it from anyone else.”

“Wait. Start at the beginning. Who is Jamie?”

“Pilot Officer James Meadows. He and Hugh were mates in Norway. Now he's flying Blenheims out of Chivenor. We started walking out together. It was going swimmingly. He told me he loved me, even asked me to marry him—”

“Tilly! You didn't.”

“No, but I would have. I also knew if I told you or Sophie, you'd talk me out of it. You both always thought I was too frivolous and silly for my own good. Anyway, he left to speak to his grandmother about it months ago. She raised him after his parents died, and he feels an obligation. Then . . . nothing. He didn't write or call. I tried phoning him at his base and they acted as if I were a Jerry spy. Wouldn't tell me anything.”