The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (11 page)

‘Not for me, tonight, thanks.’ Ben held up a hand.

‘What? No alcohol?’

‘Not in the mood. Sorry.’ He took off his jacket, sat down on the sofa, picked up a magazine that lay beside him, and began flicking through its pages. It was the free county magazine that had plopped through the letter box a few days before. Gemma knew he’d have received the same one at his flat. She realised he hadn’t yet made eye contact with her this evening. Something was wrong.

She sat down beside him. ‘What’s going on, Ben? You seem kind of distracted.’

At last he raised his head and looked at her for a brief moment. There was confusion and sadness in his eyes. ‘Gem, we need to talk. There’s stuff we need to sort out.’

‘Talk? Yes, we do. Do you mean about the wedding?’

‘Yes, about that.’ He was still flicking over the pages in the Dorset magazine.

‘I’ve started on a list of possible venues. I don’t think we should set our hearts on a date until we’ve decided on a venue and checked its availability. OK with you if we do it that way round?’ She was gabbling, she knew, but that look of confusion in his eyes had scared her.

‘Gem, it’s not about the venue. We don’t need to be rushing into finding a place or setting a date, or any of that.’

‘But Ben, we’ve been together seven years so I thought there’d be no point having a long engagement. Can’t we get married next summer? Or even before – how do you feel about a winter or spring wedding?’ She gave a little laugh, which sounded nervous even to herself. ‘I really don’t mind. Or actually, maybe I do mind, and the sooner the better, hey, gorgeous?’ She moved towards him to kiss him, but he leaned back away from her.

‘Ben? What’s wrong?’

He didn’t answer immediately, but stood up and moved to sit in her favourite armchair, the one she used to curl up in to read or watch TV when she was on her own. He was looking down at the floor. ‘Shit, Gemma. I don’t know how to say this. But Nat said I had to talk to you. She said it’s not fair to let it go on any longer.’

‘What’s not fair? What can’t go on?’ Gemma felt as though a band of cold steel had clamped itself around her gut.

‘Our engagement. We need to call it a day. It’s not fair. On you.’ Ben let out a huge sigh, and raised his eyes to hers. They were huge and brown and full of sadness.

‘What do you mean, not fair on me?’ Gemma was full of foreboding. Surely Ben wasn’t cheating on her, was he?

‘I’m releasing you, Gemma, from your promise.’

‘Releasing? That sounds a bit Victorian. I don’t want to be released. I want to marry you, Ben!’ She stood and paced around the sitting room.

‘I pushed you into it. You weren’t ready. We’ll call it off for now, and see how things go, and maybe…in time…’

‘I was ready! I
am
ready!’ She was screaming now. How could he be doing this to her? She’d been so happy knowing they were finally going to get married. Suddenly she felt as though she barely knew him at all. Seven years they’d been together. Seven years! She should have insisted they move in together. He must be seeing someone else. ‘Is there someone else?’

‘No. There’s no one else. I just don’t think now’s the right time…’

He sounded so lame. He didn’t really have a reason for breaking things off. Gemma recalled that he’d mentioned Nat at the start of this conversation. Surely he wasn’t cheating on her with her best friend? The thought made her feel sick. ‘Why did you mention Nat?’

‘Nat?’

‘At the start of this conversation. You said Nat had said you must talk to me. What’s that all about?’

‘Nat’s been a good friend. She’s been advising me.’

‘When?’

‘When she was sick. I was round there a lot, remember, helping to look after her. We got talking. She advised me.’

‘You’re having an affair with her?’ Gemma whispered. If that were true, it would be unbearable, the worst thing that could happen…

‘No! Not at all! Oh God, don’t think that for one minute!’ Ben’s eyes were wide, and she believed him, with a rush of relief. ‘We were talking, that’s all, and she knows you so well and we discussed my proposal and your acceptance in detail. That’s all. And Gemma, we really shouldn’t marry just because we’ve been together so long and people expect us to. There has to be more to it than that. Otherwise we’d just be doing it for form’s sake. Not because we
really
wanted to. I get that you have reservations and feel pressurised. I don’t want you to feel like that. So I think we need to call it off, have a bit of a break, and then if we really can’t live without each other we can try again, properly – move in together, make commitments and everything. Or we might find we’re happier apart. It’s been so long. Can you even remember being single?’ He gave a hollow laugh but his eyes were blank.

Gemma realised her mouth had dropped open. He was making no sense. First he said it wasn’t the right time, then he said they’d only got engaged because it was expected of them. Suddenly she realised what he was really trying to say. He’d got cold feet.

She shook her head sadly. Better to let him go, in a dignified manner, than rant and rage at him, although her instincts were telling her to shout and throw things. ‘If that’s how you feel, then I suppose you are right. We should call it off.’ Breaks my heart to do so, she wanted to add, but stopped herself. She pressed her lips together and stood up, picking up his jacket to hand to him. ‘I suppose you should just go, now. What the fuck did you bring me flowers for, if you knew you were going to ditch me?’

‘I don’t know. Kind of an apology in advance.’ He took the jacket from her and shrugged it on.

‘It didn’t work. Well. See you around, then.’ She opened the door and waited for him to leave.

He paused as he passed her, and looked as though he was about to say something more. There was hurt in his eyes. Hurt! He’d dumped her, not the other way round! She held his gaze, hardening her expression, until he sighed and went on his way.

She closed the door behind him, counted slowly to ten to be sure he was downstairs, out the door and out of earshot and then let out a huge roar of frustration, disappointment and pain. She grabbed the flowers and stuffed them into the kitchen bin, screaming. ‘Apologise with flowers for breaking my heart? You git, Ben. You absolute bloody GIT!’

Gemma looked at the half-prepared dinner ingredients. The last thing she felt like doing now was cooking or eating. She considered the still-unopened Prosecco. If she opened that she’d be in danger of finishing the bottle. How sad was that, drinking alone? She realised she needed to be with someone who understood and could help her through this. Whenever she’d had any kind of stress in the past she’d turned to Ben, and if not Ben, to Nat. So in this case, it would have to be Nat. Thank goodness the misunderstanding about Nat’s illness was all in the past. She went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, then grabbed a jacket and her bag, and left her flat to drive the short distance across town to Nat’s tiny rented flat, remembering the evening when Nat had cheered her up after being dumped years before. Somehow she felt that even Nat wouldn’t be able to work the same magic this time. This was far more serious. But she needed her. She wanted too, to find out what Nat had said to Ben, when they’d discussed the engagement.

As she rang Nat’s doorbell she took a deep breath. She didn’t want to blub all over her friend but knew it was pretty likely that was exactly what she would do.

Nat answered the door quickly, and looked surprised to see Gemma there.

‘Can I come in? Need a friend,’ Gemma said, and felt her eyes well up with tears. So much for not blubbing.

‘Course you can, Gem. What’s happened? Need wine?’

Gemma nodded and followed Nat inside. ‘Ben’s dumped me.’

‘Whaaaat? Jesus, you DO need wine. Give me two seconds.’ Nat disappeared into the kitchen while Gemma went into the tiny living room and slumped on the sofa, her head lolling over one armrest and her feet over the other.

Nat was back within a minute with two glasses and an open bottle of Pinot Grigio. ‘It’s not cold, I’m afraid. Didn’t expect you. Now come on, tell all.’

Gemma told her the full story, while Nat sat on the floor beside her and poured the wine. She struggled as she tried to explain Ben’s reasoning, and realised she simply didn’t understand it herself. He’d made absolutely no sense. ‘He said he’d spoken to you about this, and that you’d given him some advice. What did he say? What did you tell him?’

Nat took a long swig of her wine before answering. ‘Yes, he came round here a few times when I was ill, and we talked. He, well, he seemed unsure about your engagement, as if he thought he’d done the wrong thing by proposing. He seemed scared and uncertain so I tried to get him to open up about his worries. I don’t think I actually, I mean, I didn’t exactly advise him to actually do anything. I probably said he should talk to you sooner rather than later, if, well, if there was anything wrong.’ She took another gulp of wine. ‘And it looks like he did. God, I’m sorry if I’ve messed things up at all.’

Gemma shook her head. ‘No, you haven’t. I mean, if he was sure about us getting married then nothing you could have said would make him change his mind. So he must have had his doubts.’ She sat upright and drank some wine. ‘You probably helped. Would be worse if he’d let things go on and we’d planned the wedding and everything, and then he dumped me.’

Nat leaned forward and hugged her. ‘So glad you’re not blaming me. I’d do anything for you, you know that.’

‘You’re my best mate, Nat. I know you’ve got my best interests at heart, always.’ Gemma smiled. After being dumped by Ben it was such a comfort to know Nat had her back at all times. She’d always been at her best in a crisis. It was your girlfriends who were always there for you, who you could really rely on, and Nat had always been the very best. What would she do without her?

Chapter 10

June 1838

Rebecca put down her stitching and smiled to herself. She’d been so happy since Charles had proposed. She loved to just sit quietly for a few moments every now and again, imagining her future as Mrs Charles de Witt, mistress of the de Witt county seat in Leicestershire, with a half dozen children playing at her feet, handsome boys who’d look like their father, and girls in pretty white dresses with ribbons in their hair. In these fantasies somehow Spencer would now be her butler, having left her father’s employ, although she knew he would never do this. She’d picture a summer’s afternoon, sitting on the lawn while the children played happily and Spencer served them tea.

Where was Sarah in this fantasy? Rebecca sighed as she realised that once again, she’d written Sarah out of her imagined future. If they were to follow her parents’ wishes, Sarah was to move with her when she married and become her paid companion. But as she spent more and more time with Charles, Rebecca realised she had less time for Sarah, and no longer felt as though she needed her. It was as if, she thought, she was growing out of her childhood friend, as one grows out of a favourite doll. That was something she had never thought would happen. But increasingly, if she entered a room Sarah would leave it, or if she saw Sarah there, she’d turn around and go elsewhere. They met at dinner, and exchanged polite conversation in Papa’s company, but that was the extent of their interaction in recent weeks.

Papa had apparently not noticed. He would still refer to their great friendship, talk about Sarah as being Rebecca’s sister, and smile happily whenever he saw the two of them together.

At the thought of Papa, Rebecca’s forehead creased in a frown. She was worried about him. She’d noticed him clutch at his chest, gasp for breath and redden on a few occasions. He would always shake off anyone who expressed concern. ‘I’m perfectly well, thank you very much. Just let me have a bit of space and air and I shall be fine,’ he’d say. And indeed, he would recover quickly and go about his business. Once, Spencer had been in the vicinity when Papa had one of his attacks, and he had looked very concerned, talking about bed rest and sending for the doctor, and cutting down on after-dinner port for the sake of his health. Papa had, of course, shrugged all this off and had admonished Spencer for fussing. ‘Like an old woman, you are, Spencer. Leave me alone!’

But it did seem as though Papa himself might be quietly worried about his health, Rebecca thought. He’d been spending a lot of time in his study, sorting paperwork, and his solicitor Mr Neville, a short, beady-eyed man, had visited on several occasions. Rebecca had the idea they’d been preparing Papa’s will. And Papa appeared increasingly keen for Rebecca and Charles to marry as soon as possible. ‘Wed, settle, install Sarah, and I will be at peace knowing you are both happy,’ he’d said, more than once.

Rebecca was happy to get married quickly too, but Charles had not so far talked about setting a date. She had hinted at how lovely a summer wedding would be, but he had not picked up on it. Ah well, they were young, and there was plenty of time. No need to rush things. She was perfectly happy as she was, and if theirs was to be a long engagement, then it would be a long and happy one.

Charles wasn’t due to visit today, and indeed the weather was poor for the time of year – there had been squally showers and gusty winds all morning – so it was with surprise that Rebecca heard his voice in the hallway. She quickly put away her sewing project, patted her hair and smoothed her skirts, and went out to greet him.

As she left the drawing room she stopped abruptly. Charles was at the other side of the hallway, near the entrance to the passageway that led to the kitchens and other servants’ areas. He’d clearly come in from that way, and was shaking rain from his hat. Sarah was with him. She was wearing her scarlet riding habit, and was also damp and flushed. They had obviously been out riding.

Rebecca stepped back into the shadows of the doorway. What did Sarah mean by going out riding with
her
fiancé? Why hadn’t Charles said he would visit today? They were standing close, and talking. Rebecca strained her ears to hear what they were saying, but could not make it out. She watched as Sarah laid a hand on Charles’s arm and stretched up to mutter something in his ear. Whatever she said must have been amusing for Charles threw back his head and laughed aloud. Sarah looked triumphant at having entertained him. Rebecca had the awful, terrible feeling they were laughing at her expense. Why should she think that? Why was she hiding away here, and not walking across the hall to greet her fiancé? She shook her head to pull herself together, straightened her shoulders and stepped forward.