The Edge of the Fall (26 page)

He patted her hand. ‘I told you. Grief doesn't last for ever.'

Two days later, they had the house to themselves. All the others had gone up to celebrate Peace Day in London. She'd rather hoped to go, but Arthur said they'd be better at home. He said that Rudolf would only make it dreary, dragging her round the most boring of places. And Verena would never let her out of her sight.

‘Take my word for it,' he said. ‘It would be dreadful. I'll take you to do something better.' So he said to Rudolf that he had business to attend to, and when she was woken, she told the maid she had a headache. She lay in bed, listening to the rest of the family bustle and bang as they headed off.

After they'd gone, she turned over and went back to sleep. She woke late, dressed herself as best as she could, came down to Arthur, who was smoking in the parlour.

‘Let's enjoy it,' said Arthur. ‘Let's celebrate victory together.' So
they did. Verena had given the servants the day off, so they could even go into the kitchen. They ambled there, arm in arm, went through the cupboards looking for fruit cake. Louisa found an old one in the cupboard near the oven – and they took it upstairs with two of Verena's best plates from Mrs Bell's china cupboard.

‘I don't think we'll even use these,' said Arthur – and so they wandered through the hall and parlour, wickedly dropping crumbs of cake as they went. They fell on Verena's pale primrose carpet and into the gaps between the marble slabs of the hall floor. The blobs of cake on the ground made Louisa laugh – so much so that Arthur started laughing too, and soon they were in the middle of the parlour, in front of all the family pictures, clutching each other, hysterical with laughter.

‘Let's take the cake outside,' said Arthur. ‘And I'll find something better.' She waited for him, still giggling, and he came back with a bottle of Rudolf's wine and two glasses. She wasn't fond of wine but Arthur was keen and she took the drink he poured into her glass. That made him laugh more, and soon they were both lying under the trees in the back garden, laughing at the clouds, each other, anything.

That night, they stayed up until nearly two o'clock in the morning. The servants were supposed to come in for dinner but they didn't and Arthur said it was much better that way. They drank more wine in the parlour. Then he started talking, telling her about the beautiful buildings in Paris. She was so tired she was falling asleep on the sofa.

‘We should go to bed,' he said. ‘Now that Peace Day is over. I imagine our dull family went to bed hours ago. They'll be back soon, droning on about all the dreary parades they've seen.' He started imitating Rudolf, listing each part of the procession in turn.

She stifled a giggle in the cushion. Then he started imitating Verena, fretting about the sun, and Celia talking about ‘when I was in France'. Louisa was really laughing now, even though she knew it was wicked.

They crept up the stairs, still laughing with the freedom of
having the house to themselves. She was about to go into her room when he pointed at his own, at the end of the corridor.

‘Come in here, I have something to show you,' he said. She knew she should have been embarrassed, invited into a gentleman's room – Mama would not approve – but this wasn't like that. Arthur was her cousin.

She followed him in, heart full of shyness, and stared around her. The room was rather beautiful. She supposed it had once upon a time been like hers – or Celia's – a plain white square, high ceilings, large windows looking on to the garden. But he'd transformed it. The walls were black and brown, hung with red and gold, candles flickered on the surfaces. Stoneythorpe in general was a little lacking in ornaments (‘Verena thinks it is elegant to keep all her belongings in the cellar,' her mother had said). But Arthur's room was crowded with things. The walls were covered with pictures of dancers, cafes, parks, some framed, some not. The shelves were piled up with wooden boxes, hung with bits of silver. She sat on the bed. He stood up, next to his shelves.

‘What are all these?'

‘I bought them in Paris.' He looked a little shamefaced. ‘I like to spend money.'

‘Me too. Or I'm sure I would if I ever did go to Paris.'

‘Maybe you will, one day. You must be cold. I should offer you a blanket!' He held out a red woolly thing, deep and fluffy. When she took it from him, her hand touched his and he laughed.

‘Thank you.'

‘You know, I think I might have a few chocolates in here. I bought some in London! I think I still have a box.'

She watched as he reached in, took up a dark blue box and opened it. ‘Ah look!' he said. ‘There are so many more than I thought.' He held the box out to her and in the red and gold interior were twelve or so dark chocolates, nestled in neat white papers, tiny presents, just for her.

‘Take one. Take two, if you like. All sorts of different flavours, you know, strawberry, cream, caramel.'

She held out a finger. The choice was agonising. What if she
got it wrong? Two of them had pink spots on top – they might be the strawberry, she supposed. But what if they weren't?

‘I can't decide. I might choose the wrong one.' The night, the darkness, the noises flooded into her mind and she wanted to cry. Arthur patted her hand. ‘Don't worry, cousin. If you choose the wrong one, you can always have another.'

‘Another?'

‘Why of course, another. They are all yours. I ate my fill in London, had quite enough.'

She stared at the box. ‘I can have
all
of them?'

‘They are yours. But don't eat them all at once. Might take me a week or so to get my hands on some more.' He smiled. ‘Don't look so afraid. No one is going to take them from you.'

She picked out one with a pink nib and put it carefully in her mouth. It was strawberry! She had been right! It exploded in her mouth, a bright, sweet flavour. She looked at the others as she ate it, still not exactly sure she had chosen the best one. But if she had not – it didn't matter.

‘Have another?' he said. ‘What about this pale one here?'

She picked it up, took a bite, her mouth still sweet from the one before. She felt its warmth spread through her. All of her grew warmer. She pulled the blanket down from her shoulders; she had no need of it now.

‘You're so lucky,' she said. ‘I'd love to go to London. I've read about the parties, what goes on there. I'd love to see it.'

He shrugged. ‘It's so-so, I suppose. Those things can be fun but they seem a bit dull after a while.'

She fingered another chocolate, running her hand over the smooth surface. ‘I wish I could see it. Sometimes I feel shut up away from everything here.'

‘Well, maybe we should go one day. I'll take you.'And then he began talking about London, telling her all the things she longed to hear: parties full of girls in their best gowns; driving around the streets in cars; seeing the Royal Family; dancing in clubs in smart parts of town. She listened, nodding, barely wanting to talk in case he paused for a thought and the wonderful words ceased.

Arthur lifted up his hand. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?'

She shook her head. She didn't really know if she did mind – she'd never been near anyone smoking before coming to Stoneythorpe. It was what Papa did after dinner with the men. Sometimes, as a child, she'd go into the room next morning, before the maids had a chance to start throwing open the windows and beating the rugs. The place had always smelt dark, as if it had been burning.

‘Don't stop talking about London,' she said.

‘I need a break. You can ask me another question in a moment, if you like.'

He took a silver holder from one box and a cigarette from another. She watched, fascinated by how quickly his fingers moved, how he held the thing to him, breathed in, lit. He blew out a long trail of smoke.

‘Would you like one?'

She shook her head. Maybe ladies smoked in London.

They sat there quietly as he inhaled, exhaled smoke.

‘I hate my room,' she said. It seemed much smaller, plain and shabby compared to Arthur's. She'd known it was smaller than Celia's – but seeing Arthur's made her think she'd been put in a store room.

‘Hmmm. Well, we could ask for another room for you. But you know what my mother is like.'

‘I'd love more space, like this. Mine's like a maid's room. It smells anyway, of medicine. I bet there was medicine stored in there.'

‘You're probably right. Mind you, I'm not sure what else there is. Lots of the rooms are in a bad way, terribly damp and full of all kinds of junk after making the place into a hospital.'

He started talking about London again, the coffee houses he visited, the fine restaurants, the dancing. Louisa lay back, listening to his voice.

She woke to Arthur pulling gently at her hand. ‘It's six-thirty,' he whispered. ‘The maids will be here in an hour or so. You should go back to your room.'

Her eyes felt like lead weights.

‘No, no, don't go back to sleep,' he said. ‘You can't stay here. They'll find you.'

‘I'm so tired!'

‘Well, you can sleep back in your room. But you need to go there now.' He shook her. ‘Come, Louisa. It's morning. Light outside. And the house is awake.'

She pushed herself up and her heart skipped at the thought that she had just spent the night in a man's room, even if he was her cousin. What would her mother have said? Aunt Verena would be furious. She gathered up her skirt, hurried out of the room, not looking at him. Her face flamed. She dashed back along the corridor and jumped into bed.

That night, she heard Arthur cough as he passed her room. She longed to go out, hear more stories of Paris and London, but she knew she must not. She slept thinking of rain on stones, pattering down on the roads in Mayfair, Piccadilly Circus.

SEVENTEEN

Stoneythorpe, August 1919

Louisa

Then came the week when everything went wrong. Not immediately. The few weeks after the family came back from Peace Day were quiet. Verena and Celia were always talking about babies, Rudolf distracted. She and Arthur spent more time out by the roses or talking in the corridors. He told her more about London, precious details that she savoured.

Then, on the Tuesday of the bad week, Rudolf began talking about the finishing school in Brook Green that Louisa and Celia could attend. Celia had hated the idea, that was easy enough to see, but Louisa had liked it. And Celia agreed and Louisa saw a rather beautiful time, where they'd catch the train together, stay in a boarding house overnight, learn about all sorts of interesting things, read books, write down notes about what they'd learned, prepare for exams. They'd travel home together, chatting and looking over their notebooks.

But Arthur fell into a rage when he heard. He was so angry with all of them – and then later that evening, when he caught her alone, he was incensed at her. ‘How could you?' he said. ‘I thought we made plans to go to London together.'

She hadn't realised. ‘I didn't understand,' she said. ‘I thought you'd be pleased.'

‘What, you and Celia going off together? Why on earth would you want to spend a whole day with her? She's so dull.'

She was shocked by his anger; this was an Arthur she'd never seen before. She could think of nothing to say.

‘Louisa—' he started. He seized her hand. ‘Let's go away.'

She looked at him, bewildered. ‘What do you mean, go where?'

‘To London, of course. To all those parties and balls we talked about. I'll take you to the Savoy to dance. Now, Louisa, you have to pack. We should go tonight. Do you need me to help you? We have to do it quickly.'

Her heart was clutching. ‘We're not going to sneak off in the middle of the night?'

‘No, no, Louisa, of course not. You've been reading too many novels. We'll tell them, tomorrow morning, before breakfast. But we need to have everything ready, so they can't stop us.'

She thought of them, laughing together, giggling on the sofa on Peace Day with cake in their hands, running up the stairs. Her days spent in Arthur's company as he talked about Paris and London. Replaced by what – school, miles away? Her mother had sent her to boarding school, she'd hated every moment, mainly because the other girls hadn't liked her. She'd begged her mother to let her come back home – and finally, she did.

‘Maybe I wouldn't like the school.'

‘You wouldn't. And I'd miss you. So let's get putting things in boxes. I've spoken to Smithson. He's organised everything for us. I know a family you can stay with and I'll take lodgings upstairs.'

She'd finally agreed and the next morning came the terrible argument at the door, where she could see Celia reaching out for her, pleading with her to come back, Verena weeping, Rudolf shouting. She'd wanted to move towards them, say she was sorry – but she knew Arthur was right. It would be just like boarding school, the freezing classrooms, horrible girls. She held on to his arm. ‘We'll be back soon,' she mouthed at Celia. ‘We won't be long.'