Secrets of Nanreath Hall (6 page)

I looked at the gold lettering above the door—
WEISS AND MESSER
.

“Whoever it is, I shall put a stop to this immediately.” She pushed past me and into the gallery as I followed, not knowing whether to be appalled or flattered.

A beetle-browed shopkeeper met her before she'd gone ten steps inside. “Good afternoon, madam. How can I help you?”

Mama drew herself up, as if preparing for battle. “The portrait of the girl that you have in your window. Take it down this instant.”

He rubbed his hands in anticipation of a sale. “Ah,
The Red-Haired Wanton
. A fine choice, madam. We've had quite a lot of interest in that one.”

“I am not interested in purchasing it. I am interested in burning it.”

His smile faded to a confused frown as he looked from Mama
to me, as if for reassurance he wasn't dealing with a raving lunatic. Then his face cleared with instant comprehension and admiration. “You. You're the wan—”

“Don't say that word if you value your life.” Mama clutched her handbag, as if preparing to beat him with it while all I wanted was to sink into the floor. “Her name is Lady Katherine Trenowyth. You will remember to address her as such.”

“Mama, please,” I pleaded, heat scorching my face. “Let's just leave. I'm sure there's been a mistake.”

“That is no mistake, Katherine. That is libel.” She stared me down until my stomach shriveled. “Or worse.” She spun round to spear the poor man with a cold look down her long, perfect nose. “I want that scandalous indecency you have displayed in your window for the world to gawk at removed immediately or my solicitors will descend to drive you back under the rock from whence you came.” She fairly radiated righteous vengeance from the tip of her wobbling peacock feather to the toes of her black button-strapped shoes.

“I'm sorry, madam, but that's not up to me. I just attend to the accounts. Mr. Weiss is the owner of the gallery. He's busy with a client at present, but I can let him know of your concerns.”

“If you won't remove it, I will.” She shoved past him, all grace and elegance gone in her wild agitation.

“Madam, please. If you'd only wait a moment.” He grabbed her arm. She yanked herself free.

By now the tumult had drawn attention. An older gentleman with a long, sallow face and a pear-shaped body entered from the back. But it was his companion that froze then heated my blood and made me tremble.

“Lady Melcombe. Lady Katherine.” Simon Halliday acknowledged each of us with a gentlemanly nod. “What a delightful surprise.”

I was thinking more along the lines of unmitigated disaster myself.

“You!” Mama jabbed Simon in the chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. “You are a serpent.” Another hard poke right in his sternum. “A defiler. A base creature slinking into the bosom of our family to wreak havoc and destruction.”

Before she could strike a third time, Simon caught her wrist, his own ire increasing. “Lady Melcombe, I assure you I haven't defiled anyone. If the Red-Haired Wanton resembles Lady Katherine, it was mere chance. My painting is solely a creation wrought from my imagination.” His diamond-sharp gaze found mine, and a tremor began in my legs before spreading upward to infect my heart until it raced and jumped. In that moment I hated Simon for bringing down this catastrophe on my head, and yet I found myself reveling in his obvious desire.

Perhaps Mrs. Vinter was wrong. Perhaps I was a bad girl, after all.

Mama huffed, her lips pressed tight. “It's more than obvious what you were imagining.”

He paled but remained firm.

“Fine.” Mama crossed her arms, her voice icy and regal. “Then I will purchase it from you. How much?”

“It's not for sale.”

“Fiddlesticks. This is an art gallery. The intent is to sell the paintings. I wish to purchase that one.”

Mr. Weiss stepped into the fray, a brave man seeing his profit about to slip from his hands. “Let's not be hasty, Mr. Halliday. Of course, Lady Melcombe, if you're interested in the painting.” He paused as if calculating in his head. “It's marketed at one thousand pounds.”

Mama blanched. I gasped. And Simon went a few shades of pink then gray.

“You must know I haven't that sort of money on me,” Mama seethed.

Mr. Weiss spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Then I'm afraid, there is nothing I can do for you, my lady.”

Mama continued to bluster and threaten, all but dragging Mr. Weiss into his office.

Simon used the distraction to sidle his way close to me. His words were a low purr that shivered along my skin. “Mr. Balázs's sister is hostessing a party tonight. Come with me.”

“You're mad,” I spat under my breath. “I'll be lucky if I'm not packed off to a convent posthaste.”

“I'm sorry, truly. I had no idea anyone who knew you personally would ever see it, but I can't stop thinking about you.”

“So it would seem,” I huffed, straining to remain resolute despite the mounting heat dewing my skin as his hot gaze burned through me.

“Please, Kitty. I want you to meet my friends, and they want to see who's finally managed to knock me head over heels.”

Would it be wrong to say I was flattered? My resolve weakened along with my outrage.

“You're a grown woman, and Sophia Comersby is a perfectly respectable matron of impeccable reputation with a house in Bloomsbury,” he cajoled. “What's stopping you?”

I couldn't help the flick of my eyes toward my mother, still arguing with the gallery owner, though it was obvious by Mr. Weiss's firm chin and gleaming eye that he'd already won this round.

“What happened to the girl who doesn't like to follow orders?” Simon dared me.

“Come along, Katherine.” Mama's reappearance drew me back from a heady brink. “Your father will know how to deal with this effrontery.”

“I'll wait for you at the corner of Curzon and Piccadilly,” Simon whispered. “Meet me at ten.”

I shot him a cornered are-you-trying-to-get-me-killed look.

He just smiled. He knew I would come.

October 1940

A
s an auxiliary to the military hospital in Southampton, we're used mainly for soldiers recovering from disease rather than injury, and those cases which would most benefit from the quiet of the country. We're a small staff, but I assure you, no less dedicated to our mission.”

Sister Millbank, the hospital's matron, had the commanding bulk of a battleship and a voice that could cut glass. She sat behind an enormous desk littered with ledgers, forms, and a steaming cup of Bovril. Sun streamed through the window behind to halo her like an avenging angel, wimple wobbling in stern agitation. “I'm pairing you with Kinsale. She can teach you the day's routine, which is strictly enforced, and introduce you to the orderlies on your ward. Do not bother our MO, Captain Matthews, unless absolutely necessary. He has enough to do.” She puffed up like a baker's loaf, chest and chin jutting equally. “I run a taut ship, Trenowyth. You're here to do a job, and I won't offer you any favors despite your connection
to the family so don't expect them. Ask Kinsale if you don't believe me. She's been given the same stern warning.”

“No, ma'am,” Anna replied. “I mean . . . yes, ma'am. That is . . . it's a very distant connection.”

“Well, all to the better. They're not happy to have us here, and I'd rather not have to put up with even more nonsensical complaints about the way in which the military's ruining the family mausoleum than I already do. Now, I've work to complete. I leave you in very capable hands, don't I, Kinsale?”

Sophie looked as if she were tempted to drop into a curtsy, but gave a submissive nod, instead.

The two of them had risen promptly at six, though Anna had already been awake, lying in her borrowed bed as she turned over Sophie's words, sifting them like sand for the answers she sought. The Trenowyth family never recovered. Scandal, debt, injuries, death. None of these things had been mentioned in the
Debrett's
she'd scanned among the stacks at the lending library, curled in a chair and hidden away from prying eyes, as if she were ashamed. Dry facts were all she'd had to go on: names, marriages, dates, coats of arms, honors, and benefits bestowed by various kings and queens over the centuries.

There had been nothing about a runaway daughter and a bastard child in the formal paragraph. No hint of the tumult such an occurrence must have caused. No clue to the identity of the man who had led a petted daughter of the house astray and then died forgotten in the mud of a French battlefield.

Would she learn anything more here, or would Nanreath Hall keep tight to its secrets?

With Matron already turning back to her desk and her Bovril, Sophie motioned Anna to follow as she led her down a second-floor
corridor to a set of curving stairs and thus into a warren of storage rooms.

“Most of the house has been turned over to the war effort,” Sophie explained, her tone clipped, her movements as crisp as her apron and veil. “Lady Boxley wasn't happy about it, but in the end, there was nothing she could do. She and her son keep a few rooms in the west wing. We don't see them unless they want to be seen.”

“Hugh seems to move back and forth between realms at his leisure.”

Sophie paused at a door, sliding a key from her ring into its lock. “Hugh does what he likes, as you must already know, Miss
Trenowyth
.”

“Let me explain—”

The room they entered held shelves upon shelves of bedding. Racks contained mounds of freshly cleaned laundry, while in another corner piles of dirty stood waiting to be washed. “Sheets and blankets need sorting then we've got equipment to clean and sterilize,” Sophie continued, her manner briskly business. “I'll show you around the wards this afternoon when we're expected to help the sisters with daily rounds. Tea is promptly at four. Matron doesn't like us to be late. It upsets the men's schedule.”

Anna grabbed her arm, dragging her around to face her. “Sophie, listen to me. Please.”

Sophie glared. “You let me prattle on last night when all the time you were laughing at me. Why didn't you say who you were then?”

“Because I was curious. You
know
them. I only know what I've read in books.”

Sophie folded her arms over her chest, but her icy expression held the first signs of thawing. Perhaps Anna hadn't destroyed this hint of a friendship.

“My last name might be Trenowyth, but I'm not part of this family. I'm not part of any family. Not anymore.”

“I don't understand. You told Matron you were related.”

“My mother came from here, but I never knew her—or them. She left Nanreath Hall before I was born and died when I was six. I never knew my father, and the people who raised me died in an air raid last month in London.”

Sophie's brows crumpled in sympathy. “Oh no, Anna. I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“Why should you? It's not usually how I begin most conversations.” Anna pushed her sorrow away before it consumed her. If she didn't think about it, it couldn't hurt her.

Seemingly mollified by Anna's apology, the two of them worked through the morning's list of tasks laid out in Matron's neat handwriting.

In the corridors outside, orderlies moved with quick efficiency, conversations came and went, doors banged, shoes scuffed past, and wheels squeaked as trollies were rolled back and forth between the basement storage rooms and the medical wards, which had taken over the drawing rooms upstairs. It might be late October, but down here, the steam and heat from the nearby laundry saturated the air with damp humidity. Sweat trickled down Anna's spine and turned her well-tamed hair to a frizz of red beneath her veil, now sadly wilted from the heat.

Each time she thought they were coming to the end, another orderly would arrive with a fresh batch of linens to be folded and stored for use. Anna's arms ached, her stomach growled, but the repetitive monotony of the job and the industry beyond the door soothed her into a state of unthinking numbness.

Sophie worked beside her, the silence congenial now rather than cool until, “Does Hugh know who you are?” she asked.

Anna looked up from the form she'd been filling out, confused until she realized that while she had laid the conversation aside, Sophie had continued dwelling on it. “I don't know. It happened a long time ago.”

“That won't matter. Families like ours have long memories.” Sophie turned back to a cart filled with enough pajamas and robes to clothe a battalion. “Is that why you came to Nanreath? To find out about your family?”

“I came to Nanreath because I was assigned here. I don't expect a warm welcome. I don't expect any welcome.” She felt foolish proclaiming her intent among heaps of pillowcases and stacks of sheets. “I'm here to do a job. That's all. And at the first opportunity, I plan on transferring to a real hospital with patients that need me.”

Rather than being dismayed by Anna's outburst, Sophie smiled, her eyes alive with a curious excitement. “Meet me outside the library after visiting hours. I have something to show you.”

“What is it?” Anna asked.

Sophie continued to look like the cat with the canary. “Let's call it ‘a long memory.'”

D
espite the linoleum on the floors and the ugly hardboard paneling nailed up to protect the walls in all the downstairs rooms, Nanreath Hall maintained an air of country house serenity. Patients relaxed in the salon, browsing newspapers or listening to the wireless. Knots of men congregated in the armory, where tall windows looked out on a sloping expanse of lawn toward the sea. Down the passage, a threesome belted out the latest hits on an antique spinet.

Anna loitered at the base of the grand staircase, hoping Matron didn't pass by and question her momentary inactivity. Technically, she was still on duty, but the hospital's medical officer, Captain
Matthews, was making evening rounds, and she'd been sent to grab a quick cup of tea and a sandwich by one of the sisters who'd grown tired of hearing Anna's stomach growling while they worked checking in an ambulance of new arrivals. “Be back here in an hour,” Sister ordered. “We've got to see these men settled before the night nurse comes on duty.”

The sandwich had taken the edge off Anna's hunger, but she could gladly have devoured three more and still not been satisfied. She'd had no desire to eat since leaving London, but long hours of hard physical work had broken the numbed loss of appetite. If only it helped her to sleep soundly, she'd be satisfied.

She checked the watch pinned to her bodice. Half past. Sophie was late.

“Trenowyth, so glad you're able to enjoy a lounge while the rest of us are run off our feet.”

Anna spun round to find Sister Murphy glaring at her with beady-eyed indignation. A veteran of more battle campaigns than most generals, the QA military nurse had a long, disapproving face, a knifelike sarcasm, and the stealth of a jungle cat. No wonder Tilly was terrified of her. Even Captain Matthews seemed a bit in awe of the woman.

“Should I bring you a cup of tea and a cushion perhaps?” she sneered. “A nice bit of cake?”

“I've had dinner, thank you, Sister.”

She shoved a pile of folders into Anna's arms. “Take these to the MO's office. He'll need them before tonight's appointments.”

“I don't know where the medical officer's—”

“Upstairs, girl,” she said with a jerk of her head toward the staircase. “And get a move on. He can't wait on Your Highness's laziness all day, can he?”

Word of Anna's connection to the family must have leaked out.
Now she'd have to put up with the staff's unwanted curiosity and, apparently in some quarters, outright hostility.

She'd hold off on unpacking. She might be back on a train by tonight.

Perhaps she'd get that overseas posting, after all.

“Yes, Sister. Right away,” she answered, clasping the folders to her chest as she hurried up the steps, her mood brighter than it had been all day.

“And wipe that ridiculous smile off your face,” Sister Murphy shouted after her.

The upper floors had been given over to the medical staff. Bedchambers that once slept dukes and duchesses now housed Captain Matthews, Matron, and the QA sisters of Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service. Rooms had been set aside to be used as a private mess and an officers' parlor. Filing cabinets, typewriters, and telephones replaced what must have once been graceful tester beds, draperied dressing tables, and polished cheval mirrors. Yet the air possessed a hint of perfumed graciousness beneath the layer of ammonia-laced disinfectant, and light shone golden and watery through tall lattice-paned windows.

Poking her head in and out of doorways in hopes of discovering the MO's office, Anna rounded a corner to come upon an enormous room ornately paneled in oak. Groupings of comfortable chairs and couches centered on thick, richly patterned carpets. But it was the paintings that drew Anna's startled gaze. Women in ruffs and collars, men in wide-brimmed feathered hats and scarlet sashes. Families perched upon benches with Nanreath's facade as backdrop. A woman seated with a spaniel, her great Georgian silk skirts floating around her ankles, her hair piled high and powdered on her head. A young man leaned against a tree, a brace of pheasants laid at his feet, a musket in his loose-limbed slender arms.

“You heard about Villiers and Crangle, I suppose.”

Anna stopped dead, a foot paused above the floorboard, breath clogging her throat.

“I did. What the hell happened, Tony? We've lost close to half the lads with us at St. Barnack's. Cambridge's hallowed colleges must echo like tombs these days.”

Hugh was in conversation on the far side of the room where a pair of armchairs had been pulled to a window. She must have stumbled into the family's apartments. Should she retreat as silently as she entered? Announce her presence with a cough or a clearing of her throat?

“Villiers was on the
Triad
that sank off the Italian coast.” A deep voice with the trace of a brogue about it. “Crangle plowed his Spitfire into a field in Sussex.”

“And here I sit playing the doddering fool for a bunch of blasted nurses.”

“Do you know how many men would kill for your blasted nurses, Melcombe?”

“They can damn well have the lot.”

Every moment Anna delayed only worsened her position, yet she couldn't quite bring herself to back away.

“I expect your mother is glad to have you safe at home.”

Hugh stretched as he relaxed, his trouser leg riding up to reveal the unnatural shade of a wooden prosthesis. “Of course she is. She can wrap me back up in packing wool to be trotted out at dinner parties and village fetes for the neighbors to hail as the conquering war hero.”

“Rumor has it you're doing your best to dispel them of that notion.”

The laugh that followed was harsh and bitter, full of regret.
Nothing like last night's boyish amusement. “First you ask about my mother. Now you're starting to sound like her.”

Anna decided retreat was her best option. One step. Two steps. Slowly. Carefully. Gauging each footfall to avoid the squeaky spots.

“Don't let her hear you say that. She'd never stand to be compared to a miner's grandson from Glasgow.”

Anna never noticed the table until she banged into it, setting a lamp wobbling.

Hugh sat up, his leg disappearing from view. “I hope whoever you are, you're enjoying the conversation,” he called out.

Conscious of the heat flooding her cheeks and the tremble in her fingers gripping the folders, Anna swallowed her panic and stepped forward boldly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was looking for Captain Matthews's office.”

Hugh levered himself awkwardly to his feet, a hand resting lightly upon the chair back. “Tony, this is one of those nurses you were envying me.”