The Hardie Inheritance (12 page)

‘I'm Trish,' said Trish. This conversation took place at every encounter.

‘Patricia is a beautiful name and beauty should never be cut short. One of these days you're going to be a beautiful woman and then you'll find yourself begging everyone to forget that you were ever called trish-trash-Trish. Any news of the baby yet?'

‘He arrived early this morning,' said Mrs Hardie.

‘Good for Grace. As soon as she's had time to recover, remind her that all the best families have to have first an heir and then a spare. Is she receiving visitors?'

‘Not yet. She's still resting.'

‘Give her my best wishes, then. I've come to pick up the motor, and I shan't be back for a few weeks, not till the new term starts.'

‘Are you going on holiday?' asked Trish.

‘I'm going back to Castlemere to do some work.' Laughing, he turned to Mrs Hardie to explain. ‘So much goes on in
Oxford during term that it's quite hard to settle down to any serious reading. My friends would laugh at me if I suggested it, and even the dons don't seem to expect it. Beverleys have been keeping their terms at Oxford for generations, and I suspect that not one of them has thought of it as anything but a place to row and play cricket and get drunk. I'm actually quite keen to learn a bit of history, but I have to keep it to myself, or I should get terribly ragged. So. If I eat any more of this delicious gingerbread I shall get fat. Goodbye, Cousin Lucy. And beautiful Miss Patricia.'

‘I like Rupert,' said Trish when he had gone.

‘So do I.' Mrs Hardie had been hurt, when she was younger, by the coldness with which her family had punished her for making a misalliance. Rupert's friendliness was refreshing – but after a few moments the sparkle which he had brought to the atmosphere began to fade as she was left to face the realities of a depressing day.

The day which in happier circumstances might have seen baby Tom Faraday's christening proved instead to be the occasion of his funeral.

In the twenty-four hours after the birth Grace had been too tired to understand why her mother had so adamantly insisted that the doctor must attend at once to examine the new-born child. Even later, after the news of her son's abnormality was broken to her, she had assumed that the visit was for the purpose of checking the midwife's opinion. But it seemed that Mrs Hardie's experience of childbearing – for she herself had given birth to eight children – must have given her an instinct that something else was wrong. Within four days of his birth, little Tom was struggling for breath through congested lungs. He was taken down to the Infirmary; but in three weeks he was dead.

Only a small family group gathered to watch the tiny coffin consigned to the earth. Besides the Greystones household, Grace's Aunt Midge was there; and a day had been chosen on which Jay had no matinée to play, so that he was able to travel from London with his elder brother, David, and Sheila, his sister-in-law. It was not thought necessary to keep David's three children away from school for the occasion.

Jay was a regular weekend visitor, but an appearance by David's family was rare. David himself, since abandoning the law to take charge of the family business, called regularly at the shop in Oxford's High Street and often took the opportunity to visit his mother. His wife, though, rarely accompanied him. It was a long time since Grace had last seen her sister-in-law,
and she was startled to discover that Sheila – who was a year or two older than herself – was pregnant again. Her condition was concealed at first by the loose black coat which she wore for the church service and interment; but it became obvious when they all returned to Greystones for luncheon. How fortunate that Grace had resolved in advance not to mention the fact that little Tom had been born with a condition ascribed to his mother's advanced age!

Mrs Hardie, delighted to learn for the first time that she could expect to become a grandmother once more, insisted on taking Sheila upstairs to rest after the meal was over.

‘Do you need a rest as well?' David asked Grace. ‘It's not very long –'

‘Oh, long enough.' She was surprised by the note of consideration in her brother's voice. Neither of the two of them ever made any direct reference to the quarrel which had split the family immediately after the war, but their usual attitude to each other was one of politeness rather than fraternal affection.

‘Then if you feel strong enough – and if it's not too cold for you – perhaps we might take a walk in the grounds. The daffodils must be at their best now.' His manner made it clear that he had a particular subject to discuss.

‘It was very bad luck about little Tom,' he said when they were alone. ‘Especially since at your age I don't suppose you'll want to try again.'

‘Don't make me sound as though I were seventy!' A remark which she would have accepted from Jay as a statement of fact seemed to emerge from her elder brother's lips as a criticism. ‘After all, Sheila is older than I am, and she –'

‘Yes, well, that was an accident. But at least we have three healthy children to reassure us that everything is likely to go well again.'

Grace nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Yes, you're right, I'm too old.'

‘You've probably been waiting to see how things turned out.
But now – I was wondering: have you made a new will since your marriage?'

‘No,' said Grace. ‘Nor before it. I may be long in the tooth for motherhood, but I'm a bit young for dying.'

‘Accidents can happen at any age. And in the hands of anyone who could afford to maintain the house properly, Greystones would be a very valuable property.'

‘Even so, since my affairs are so simple … There are rules, aren't there, about what happens if there's no will. My husband –'

‘You mean that you'd like Ellis to become the owner, without thinking what might happen to Mother and Philip? Don't imagine that he'd necessarily let things go on as they were, because life doesn't work that way. In any case, the intestacy rules aren't as simple as that. If you died leaving a husband and son, that would be reasonably straightforward, I agree. But if you only leave a husband, other people have entitlements. Ellis might have to sell Greystones in order to distribute shares of the value of your estate, and to pay death duties. Where would that leave Mother and Philip? I won't offer to draw up something for you myself: it's not a good idea to do that kind of thing inside the family. But I do most strongly urge you to make proper arrangements. Greystones may be legally your house, but it has become the family home. You have a responsibility –'

‘I'll bear it in mind.' Grace interrupted her brother and turned back towards the house. They were coming too near to that earlier argument in which she had refused to mortgage Greystones in order to save The House of Hardie from bankruptcy. ‘Thank you for the reminder.'

She was rescued from further pressure by the sound of someone calling her name. Rupert, with Trish riding pick-aback on his shoulders, was searching for her.

‘Goodness, has term started already?' exclaimed Grace. ‘I didn't expect to see you for another week or two.' Rupert's visits were always unannounced, but were usually confined
within the weeks of the Oxford terms. ‘Meet my brother, David. David, I don't think you've met Lord Rupert Beverley.'

‘Another Hardie cousin? Good-oh: I collect cousins. How do you do? I must say first of all, Cousin Grace, how sorry I am to hear about your baby. I was here the day he was born, and I hoped he'd bring you a lot of happiness. It's rotten bad luck.'

‘Thank you.' Grace didn't want to talk about Tom any more. ‘But you didn't come here to say that.'

‘No. I only found out a moment ago. I came to give your mother a piece of perfectly spiffing news.' His face, which he had tried to keep grave as he expressed his condolences, reverted to its usual grin. ‘I'll leave her to pass it on to you. Don't let her kid you that it has anything to do with me. I'm only the messenger, that's all. And I've got to get back straightaway. Down you come.' He tipped Trish off his shoulders, depositing her on the ground in front of David's feet before making off with a last wave of his hand.

Grace, curious, went to find her mother. But Mrs Hardie refused to say anything until much later that day, when Jay and David and Sheila had left, Trish had gone to bed, and Ellis had excused himself to go and work in what was once the smoking room but had now been converted into a darkroom.

Philip, as always, sat in silence as Grace begged her mother to reveal the news which Rupert had brought.

‘Dear Rupert. He likes to behave as though he's a bit of an ass, but I suspect that he's really quite sharp. Businesslike. He's been delving in my brother's papers. There's something that the lawyers who are supposed to be winding up his estate don't seem to have noticed until Rupert pointed it out.'

‘What's that?'

‘Well, as you know, my mother married when she was very young. My grandfather – the marquess who gave you Greystones, Grace – made a marriage settlement on her. That was quite usual in those days. After she died – in her early twenties, when I was born – the money stayed in a trust fund
for the benefit of Archie and myself. We should each have been given our share on our twenty-first birthdays. Archie took his, but I was never even told about mine. By the time I was twenty-one, you see, I'd married and gone off to China with your father and was in deep disgrace with my family.'

‘Do you mean that your brother stole your share of the money?' exclaimed Grace.

‘Not stole it, no. Simply never handed it over. He'd threatened that if I married without his permission I'd never receive another penny from anyone in the family and he didn't feel inclined to break his promise. So he simply held on to my share of the settlement. It's been sitting in some trustee account ever since, earning a little interest every year. I imagine that by the time he died even Archie had forgotten all about it, and no one else would ever have known.'

‘So has it grown into a huge fortune? Millions and millions?'

‘Nothing like that, no. It wasn't a great sum to start with. Just enough – or rather, half of just enough – to keep a well-connected young lady in ballgowns and French maids. But it's going to seem like a fortune to us.'

‘To
you
,' said Grace; and Philip nodded his agreement. She hugged her mother in pleasure. ‘You're to have a bit of luxury at last. Whatever it will run to. More help in the house. A cook as well as a maid, for a start.'

‘I enjoy the cooking,' said Mrs Hardie. ‘When I remember the terrible overcooked food we used to have, I couldn't bear to go back to it. But a housekeeper might be useful. Or a kitchen maid to do the dirty jobs. What I thought was, I could keep back enough of the capital to produce income which would pay wages. Then we ought to get the roof repaired before the attics get any damper. But as well as that I want to give you each a present. Grace is to go and choose the most beautiful piece of stone that she can find. And Philip, I want you to start the vineyard that you were talking about.'

Her son and daughter looked at each other incredulously. On the day, many months ago, when Andy Frith had suggested
the suitability of part of their land for growing vines, they had discussed the possibility at some length. Their conclusion had been definite. They could not possibly afford the initial cost of preparing the land and buying the vines – and the stakes and wires and tools that would also be necessary. Philip, although saying as little as usual, had made it clear from his wistful expression how much he would have enjoyed conducting such an experiment had it been possible: but they had both agreed that it was out of the question, giving the idea no further thought.

‘We won't discuss it any more now,' said Mrs Hardie. ‘You may have changed your minds, of course. But if it still interests you, make an estimate of what it would cost to get going, and bring me the figures. I'll promise to tell you honestly if it's more than I can manage. But you've had such a bleak time, you two dears, these past years. I'd like to give you a treat – and I realize what you enjoy most of all is an opportunity to work even harder than before. Now Grace, dear, I think you should go to bed early. You've had a harrowing time this past month. I'd like you to wake up tomorrow morning and throw it all off. Start again. Get back to your work.'

Grace hugged her mother and went slowly upstairs. She had not yet returned to her tower room since her confinement, but would do so tomorrow. As she moved lethargically around the larger room which she had used for the past few months, there was a knock on the door.

It was Ellis who had come to see her, as anxious about her state of health and mind as her mother had been. ‘All right?' he asked.

Grace nodded. ‘If it had to end this way, I'm glad it's over.'

He took her hand. ‘You're a brave woman. I've been admiring you. Not a tear all day. And not a tear even when you were told what was wrong with him. Yet that must have been devastating, after all those months of waiting, and so much pain.'

Grace was comforted by his touch. ‘I'll tell you something that I've never confessed to anyone before,' she said. ‘Not even to my mother. One of my brothers knew, the one who lives in Australia now, but he never told anyone either.'

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts and her courage.

‘It was when I was about a year younger than Trish is now. My mother had another baby, Felix. He was premature; very small. That day I had a terrible quarrel with my other brothers. They killed my pet cat – hunted it, like a tiger. Shot it with a bow and arrow, and then beat its brains out, in front of my eyes. I think I went a little mad. I tried to see my mother, but no one would let me into her room. So when I found myself alone with the new baby, I knocked the cradle over. I only meant it as a gesture of bad temper, but he banged his head on the floor. It must have done some kind of damage. He grew up to be very good-looking – and very happy – but his mind was always that of a child.'