The Sisters of St. Croix (2 page)

“Of course. But we shall see each other this evening at your birthday dinner.”

“I know, but I need to speak to you before that. Before Father gets home. I’ve had a letter.”

“Ah, I see.” Antoinette Driver sounded suddenly serious. “Yes, well in that case I think you’d better come round this morning and we can have a nice chat in private. I have a luncheon engagement, but that is not until 12.30.”

“Can I come now?” Adelaide asked.

“Of course. Just ask Davies to show you up as soon as you arrive.”

Within half an hour, Adelaide was knocking on the front door of her grandmother’s house just off Eaton Square.

“Good morning, Miss Adelaide.” Davies greeted her with a smile. “May I wish you many happy returns of the day.”

“Thank you, Davies,” Adelaide replied, returning his smile. “Indeed you may. Is my grandmother still upstairs?”

“Yes, miss, she is, but she said to tell you to go on up as soon as you arrived.”

Adelaide thanked him and hurried up the wide oak stairs to the old lady’s bedroom. She knocked loudly and in answer to a call to come in she opened the door. Her grandmother was sitting up in bed, a breakfast tray on a table beside her, the post opened and strewn across the bed covers.

“Adelaide, my darling, happy birthday!” Antoinette Driver held out her arms and, as always, addressed her granddaughter in French.

Adelaide crossed the room for a birthday hug and a kiss and then drew up a chair beside the bed. Grand’mère removed her pince-nez and smiled. “So, now you are quite grown up. Feel any different?”

Adelaide shook her head. “No, not really.”

“Nor I,” the old lady said equably. “I haven’t felt any different since the day I left the schoolroom.”

“I got your birthday card,” Adelaide said, not quite knowing where to begin, “and one from Granny and Grandpa. Andrew remembered, too.”

“Well done, Andrew,” said her grandmother, “but I think you had some other post, yes? Another letter?”

Adelaide pulled it out of her bag and handed it over. Mrs Driver replaced the pince-nez on her nose and pulling the letter from its envelope, read it slowly. Adelaide watched her face as she did so, but the old lady showed no signs of surprise or disbelief. When she had finished she handed the letter back to Adelaide.

“So…” she said and waited.

“So, what is it all about?” demanded Adelaide. “Firstly, is this letter really meant for me, and if so who on earth is George Hurst?”

“It is definitely meant for you,” confirmed Mrs Driver, “and Sir George Hurst was your grandfather, your paternal grandfather.”

“But…” began Adelaide.

“Your mother, my Heather, was married before. She married a man called Frederick Hurst at the very end of 1915. He was killed on the Somme in July 1916. You were born posthumously.”

Adelaide stared at her. “You’re saying my mother was married before… and she never told me?”

“Richard wouldn’t allow her to.”

“What do you mean, he wouldn’t allow her to?” demanded Adelaide.

“Darling, you know your father. People do what he says. He didn’t want her to tell you, so she didn’t.”

“But she was married to this Frederick Hurst for nine months?”

Mrs Driver sighed. “Not really, no.”

Adelaide looked shocked. “You mean I’m illegitimate?”

Mrs Driver shook her head with a laugh. “No, of course not, darling. What I meant was that they were never together as a married couple. Freddie was a friend of Uncle Johnny’s. Freddie and Heather met in London and corresponded while he was away in France.”

“Freddie, is that what he was called?” Adelaide interrupted. “I think I like that better than Frederick. So what happened?”

“Freddie came home on leave and they decided to get married.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” agreed her grandmother. “We tried to persuade them to wait, but it was no use. They were difficult times, the war years; people snatched their happiness where and when they could.

“So, he had ten days’ leave over Christmas. They got married by special licence on 29th December and had a four-day honeymoon in London before he went back.” Mrs Driver gave a sad sigh. “He never came home. She never saw him again. He was killed on the first day of the Somme. You were born two and half months later.”

Silence fell between them as Adelaide struggled to take it all in. Grand’mère reached out and took her hand and together they sat thinking about what Adelaide had just heard.

“When did she marry Father? Richard, I mean.”

“Two and a half years later. We gave her all the support we could, but your mother, God rest her soul, was the sort of woman who needed a man to lean on. And anyway it would have been wrong for her to turn down another chance of happiness. Besides, she had you to consider. Richard was happy to take you on and bring you up as his child. All he asked was that it be done legally, so, when they got married he also adopted you legally and gave you his name. He said it would be better when they had more children that the family should all have the same name and grow up together with no ghosts lurking in the background.”

“But Mummy must have wanted to tell me about Freddie, when I got older I mean. Old enough to understand.”

“I think she did, but Richard asked for her promise and she gave it.”

Adelaide shook her head in confusion. “It is most peculiar,” she remarked, “to grow up thinking you are one person and suddenly discovering you are someone quite different!”

“You are you,” Grand’mère pointed out gently. “You are the same you as before. Your father was Freddie Hurst, but to all intents and purposes your father is Richard Anson-Gravetty. He is the one who’s brought you up as his own, loved you as a daughter, given you everything. It is no mean task to take on another man’s child and he has done his best. All he asked was that you should think of him as your real father… and you do, don’t you?”

“Of course, it’s just… well, just such a shock to find out that he isn’t. Especially when everyone else knew it all along.”

“Not everyone at all,” said her grandmother. “Only Norman and I, Richard’s parents and Johnny. Others may have known, but in the chaos that surrounded the end of the war everyone was too concerned with their own affairs to remember other people’s.”

Adelaide was still holding the letter and now she looked at it again. “This solicitor, this Arthur Brewer, says I’ve been left money by my real grandfather, Sir George. He must have known about me.”

“Yes, of course he did, but when he died there was no one left on that side of the family to have any claim to you.”

“Was Freddie an only child then? Didn’t he have any brothers or sisters?”

“There was a sister, Sarah I think she was called. She went to France to nurse the wounded. Took her maid and upped and went to nurse in a convent or some such. Anyway, the maid later came home in disgrace, but the sister stayed on and became a nun, of all things.”

“A nun?” Adelaide was startled.

“Well, we are a good Catholic family, remember,” said Mrs Driver, her face entirely serious.

That made Adelaide burst out laughing. “Oh, Grand’mère, how can you say such a thing? When was the last time you went to Mass?”

“Be that as it may,” her grandmother answered serenely, “Freddie was brought up a Catholic and so was your mother. So were you, come to that. At least Heather won that battle!”

“So this Sarah is my aunt. Where is she now?”

“Still in her convent, I imagine,” replied Mrs Driver, pushing aside the bedclothes and preparing to get up. “They don’t let them out, you know.”

“Grand’mère, why didn’t you tell me before?” Adelaide asked softly.

Her grandmother gave her a rueful smile. “It wasn’t my secret, my darling. Heather asked us to keep the promise she had made and so, with many misgivings, we have.”

“Does Andrew know?” Adelaide was very close to her cousin, and the idea that he should have known something of this importance when she had not, would hurt.

Mrs Driver shook her head. “I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. I imagine Johnny was sworn to secrecy too. Now shoo, I have to get up.”

“Grand’mère, what shall I do about this letter?” Adelaide asked.

“I should do what it asks you to,” was the reply. “Go and see the man and find out about your legacy. I should imagine you have become quite a wealthy woman.”

“What about Father? What do I tell him?”

“You don’t need to tell him anything. He already knows. He’s always known that it would all come out the day you were twenty-one. He’s simply been putting it off.” She looked speculatively at her granddaughter. “Why do you think he was away for your birthday morning,
hein
? He didn’t want to be there when you found out. Never forget, darling, that he loves you in his own way. He’s afraid of losing you to some ghostly father from the war. You must reassure him that he is truly your father and you are truly his daughter.” The old lady reached for her robe and went on, “And now, my darling, I really do have to get up. You may go downstairs and wait for me there if you like. Ask Davies for coffee. We can talk some more once I am ready to go out.”

The rest of her birthday passed in something of a blur. Adelaide had arranged to meet her friend Sophie for lunch, and it was all she could do not to tell her of the amazing discoveries she had made that morning. However, she knew she owed it to her father, her adoptive father that was, to talk things through with him first. The lunch was thus somewhat difficult, as Adelaide could think of very little else.

“Addie, you’re miles away,” laughed Sophie when she had made the same remark twice and received no answer.

Adelaide smiled apologetically. “Sorry,” she said, “I was thinking about this dinner party Father is giving for me this evening. What did you say?”

“I said, shall we go shopping this afternoon? I want to buy some shoes.”

“Oh Sophie, do you mind if we don’t?” she said. “I really ought to go home. My grandparents are driving up from Winchester for this evening and I really should be at home to greet them when they arrive.” She smiled across at Sophie and added, “Andrew’s coming too. He’s going to stay the night. Do you want to come round tomorrow morning for a cup of coffee?” Adelaide was well aware how Sophie felt about her cousin and she tried to bring them together whenever she could.

Sophie looked at her affectionately. “Thanks,” she said. “I might.” And they both laughed, knowing wild horses would not keep Sophie away.

Richard Anson-Gravetty arrived home only an hour before the dinner guests were due to assemble. Adelaide knocked on his dressing-room door and when he called her in, she crossed the room and put her arms round him in an unusual gesture of affection.

“Welcome home, Daddy,” she said. “Granny and Grandpa are here and getting changed. Everything’s ready for the dinner.”

He returned her hug and then held her away from him and looked into her face. “Happy birthday, Adelaide. And congratulations!”

She looked at him quizzically. “Congratulations on what?”

“On coming of age, of course.”

“The years of discretion… when I can be told everything.”

“I imagine you have already been told, if I know anything about your grandmother.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Adelaide laughed. “You’re right, of course. Today I discovered that I am lucky enough to have two fathers. But you do Grand’mère an injustice, Daddy. She kept the secret until I had learned of it from another source.”

Her father grunted. “You heard from old Brewer, I suppose.”

“I did, so of course I went to Grand’mère to find out what it was all about.”

“You didn’t think of waiting until this evening and asking me?”

Adelaide hadn’t thought of doing so, but now she prevaricated. “I didn’t think you wanted to tell me, or you’d have done it before… or let Mummy tell me,” she said. “Wasn’t that why you were away this morning?” It was after all what Grand’mère had suggested.

Richard shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. His hands dropped from her shoulders and he turned to the mirror to knot his evening tie.

Adelaide moved towards the door where she turned and said softly, “Thank you, Daddy, for all you’ve done for me.”

“It was my duty,” he replied without turning round. “I’m your father.”

On this rather unsatisfactory note Adelaide left the room to put the finishing touches to her own evening dress.

Later that night, as she lay in bed, her birthday dinner over, she thought about the extraordinary revelations of the day. She had left her curtains open so that the light from the street lamp below gave an eerie green glow to the room. The familiar shapes of her room were comforting as she confronted her world turned upside down. Her father wasn’t her father and her mother had never told her. All of a sudden she was somebody different. It was all very well for Grand’mère to say that she was still the same person herself, but she didn’t feel it. She wasn’t the same person who had woken up that morning, sure of who she was and where she came from. Now she felt that part of her was made up of someone else. Parts of her, physical and mental, had been bequeathed to her by someone whom she didn’t know anything about. And she wanted to know; who he was, what he was like, where he came from.

Dinner had passed off quite well. Her favourite foods had been served, a birthday cake ablaze with twenty-one candles had been brought in and the assembled family had sung “Happy Birthday” and “Twenty-One Today”. Not by the slightest glance did Grand’mère, elegantly attired in a black chiffon evening dress with a corsage of tiny white roses, indicate that she and Adelaide had anything else on their minds but the birthday celebrations. No sign came from Richard that anything untoward had happened between them and to all intents and purposes the family party was a great success. He had presented her with her birthday gift in the drawing room where they had all gathered for drinks before dinner. Inside the parcel was a beautiful gold elbow bracelet, broad and heavy, chased with swirling patterns. There were gasps of admiration as she held it up to be admired before she slid it over her elbow where it nestled comfortably, fitting perfectly and drawing attention to the slender shape of her arm.