The Sisters of St. Croix (3 page)

“It’s really beautiful, Daddy,” she said and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much. I love it. And you’ve put my initials inside and the date. That makes it really special.” But she wondered as she spoke if the “A A-G 9th September 1937” was some sort of statement, a declaration that whoever had been born on 9th September 1916, she was Adelaide Anson-Gravetty now.

As she caught Grand’mère’s eye, she saw a look of approval and shot her a smile.

When her father had stood and raised his glass to propose her health, he had said, “We wish you every happiness, Adelaide. I only wish your mother were here with us tonight to see what a beautiful daughter we have. We wish you health, and happiness for the rest of your days.”

Everyone had stood up and dutifully repeated, “Health and happiness!” as they clinked their glasses, but Adelaide had been touched by Richard’s words, not only was it the first time he had mentioned her mother in months, but also the nearest he had ever come to saying he was proud of her. Perhaps Grand’mère was right; perhaps he had been afraid he might lose the battle against a ghostly, heroic father about whom she might fantasise.

Everyone had stayed overnight, so there was no rush to leave as the hour got late. They sat around in the drawing room talking companionably, at ease as they always had been. No one mentioned the subject that was churning round Adelaide’s brain, though they all must have known that she knew by now.

It was strange, Adelaide thought. Was she the only one whom the revelation affected?

She had looked across at Andrew, who was chatting to Grand’mère, but there had been no chance to have a private word with him.

If he really doesn’t know I’m not Richard’s daughter, what will he say when he finds out, she wondered? I wish I could talk to him.

At last she fell asleep and didn’t wake again until Florrie was tapping on the door with her early tea.

By the time she got down to breakfast, her father was about to leave the table.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said. “Come and find me in the study when you’ve had your breakfast.”

“Yes, of course, I won’t be long,” Adelaide replied. As she ate her toast she wondered what on earth it could be. After all, she’d had her present last night.

When she knocked on the study door twenty minutes later, she found her father at his desk.

He looked up as she came in. “Ah, there you are. I’ve looked this out for you. Your mother wanted you to have these things when you reached twenty-one.”

He pointed to an envelope on the desk, but Adelaide did not pick it up. She said softly, “I know I’m not your real daughter, by blood I mean. But I
am
your daughter, you know.
You
are my father, not the man who died in 1916.”

Richard looked up from what he was writing as she spoke but said nothing. Adelaide went on, “You’re the one who’s looked after me all these years. It was you sitting with Mummy by my bed when I came round from having my appendix out. It was you who ran in the fathers’ race at my first school sports.” She paused and when he continued to say nothing she added, “I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.”

Richard shrugged. “I thought it better not to. Your mother agreed. However, we both knew you’d learn in the end, when you came into Sir George’s money.”

“I still wish you’d told me yourself, not left me to discover from a complete stranger,” Adelaide said. She sighed. “I suppose I must get in touch with this Mr Brewer, now.”

“You must do what you think fit,” Richard replied calmly. “You’re of age now.” He turned back to what he had been writing when she’d come in, saying as he did so, “Don’t forget to take your envelope.”

It was her dismissal and Adelaide picked the envelope up. “Thank you, Father.” Quietly she turned and went out of the room; clearly he wanted no displays of affection. He felt he had done his duty by her and now she was on her own.

Adelaide took the envelope to her room, locked the door and sat down in the chair by the window. For a moment she looked down on the square. Only twenty-four hours since she had looked down on it in such hope yesterday morning, the first day of her adult life and yet it seemed a lifetime away.

She slipped her finger under the flap of the envelope and tore it open. Inside there were two documents and another, smaller, sealed envelope. The first of the documents was her birth certificate, naming her Adelaide Sarah, daughter of Heather Hurst and Captain Frederick Charles Hurst (deceased). Born 9th September 1916 at Greyling House, Chalfont St Giles. The second was the certificate of adoption in which she, Adelaide Sarah Hurst, became the legal daughter of Richard David Anson-Gravetty, and her surname was changed to his. It was dated 12th June 1919. She had never asked which year her parents got married. Although she knew that their anniversary fell on 21st April it was never celebrated in any style and it had never dawned on her that they might not have been married until she was nearly three.

Adelaide set the two certificates aside and opened the other envelope. Inside was a letter, written in her mother’s handwriting. The sight of her mother’s neat hand made tears spring to Adelaide’s eyes. She dashed them away and started to read.

My darling Adelaide,

I know I haven’t very long to live. This awful disease has got the better of me, and my time is nearly over. My only real regret is that I shan’t see you grow up into the beautiful young woman I know you will be. You’ll know by now that Richard is my second husband and not your natural father, though he has been as real a father to you as is in his nature. He made me promise not to tell you about Freddie. I know that he was always jealous of the place Freddie might hold in my heart, though he had no need to be, and he was afraid that Freddie might usurp his place with you as well. He also hoped to have children of his own and he thought it would be easier, for you and them, if it were assumed that he was your natural father.

When Freddie was killed, I was on my own. Even with the help of my parents, life was a struggle. I was still very young, with you to consider, and when Richard finally asked me to marry him it was a chance of security for us both and I took it. He is a kind man and even though he doesn’t show his emotions, he loves us both. We’ve both learned to love him too, haven’t we, and thanks to him we’ve had happy and contented lives.

Freddie was a wonderful man; honourable and courageous. He had a wonderful smile, which I’ve seen on your face on many an occasion, and a really infectious laugh, just like yours. You are like him in so many ways, not just in looks, which indeed you are, but mannerisms and character, too.

However, when I look back now I realise I hardly knew him as a husband. We had a whirlwind romance and then three days of married life and that was all. To me he was a figure of great romance, straight from a young girl’s dreams. Handsome and debonair, he swept me off my feet… a brave soldier off to do his bit for King and country. I loved him and he loved me, don’t ever doubt that, but we never had our own home, never delved deeper into each other than our few days together allowed. Richard is my true husband and believe me when I say that despite all the outward signs to the contrary, Richard is a vulnerable man.

On your twenty-first birthday you will come into the money put in trust for you by your grandfather, Freddie’s father, Sir George Hurst. Then you will have to be told about Freddie, but if you feel the need to find out more about him, please be gentle about it. Remember, even though Freddie gave you life, it is Richard who has watched over you as you have lived it. Look after him for me.

God bless you, my darling.

With my love, Mummy

The writing blurred in front of her eyes as Adelaide read. Sitting with the letter in her lap, Adelaide thought about her mother.

Dearest Mummy. She knew she was dying and she wrote to me, even though she knew that I wouldn’t read the letter for another five years.

Adelaide wondered briefly if Richard had read the letter before giving it to her and then chided herself for such an uncharitable thought. It was not in Richard’s nature to do such a dishonourable thing.

Adelaide considered what to do for several days before she finally put in a call to trunks and spoke to Mr Arthur Brewer in Belcaster.

“My dear Miss Anson-Gravetty,” said the voice over the crackling line. “I would be delighted to meet you on Thursday. Will you catch the 10.30 train from Paddington and perhaps you would take luncheon with me after we have concluded our business?”

Adelaide took a taxi from the station to the offices of Brewer, Harben and Brewer and was greeted by a lady of middle years, smartly dressed in a grey suit over a pale blue twin set.

“How do you do, Miss Anson-Gravetty. I am Miss Davenport, Mr Brewer’s secretary. He is expecting you and asked me to show you straight up.” She led the way up some narrow stairs to a room on the first floor. With a brief knock she opened the door and ushered Adelaide in.

“Miss Anson-Gravetty, Mr Brewer.”

An elderly man rose from behind the desk at which he had been sitting and came forward to meet her, his hand outstretched.

“Miss Anson-Gravetty,” he beamed, “how delightful to meet you at last!”

Adelaide shook his hand and was shown to a comfortable seat in front of a smouldering fire. Having asked Miss Davenport to bring coffee, Mr Brewer took a chair opposite her.

“I like to have a fire, even though the days aren’t that cold yet,” he said. “When you get to my age, you know, you feel the cold so much more.” He looked across at her. “May I ask you something, Miss Anson-Gravetty? Did you know about your inheritance before I wrote to you?”

“No, Mr Brewer. It came as a complete shock,” Adelaide replied. “I didn’t know until I received your letter that my father wasn’t my father, if you see what I mean. I knew nothing of Freddie Hurst.”

“Ah,” Mr Brewer sucked his breath in through his teeth. “I was afraid that might be the case. I had hoped that Mr Anson-Gravetty might have told you himself before the letter arrived. It certainly must have come as a shock.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Adelaide agreed. “I had no idea that he wasn’t my real father.”

“It was his wish that we didn’t communicate directly with you and as he is, was, your legal guardian, we had to respect his wishes. However, now you are twenty-one you are responsible for your own affairs.”

“I see,” said Adelaide. “And what are those affairs?”

“Well, apart from a few small bequests, your late grandfather, Sir George Hurst, made you his sole beneficiary. I must tell you, Miss Anson-Gravetty, that you are an extremely rich young woman. The capital has been invested in trust for you and all the accruing interest has been reinvested. It amounts to a tidy sum.”

Adelaide stared at him. “How much?” she asked him softly.

“Well, let me see now,” Mr Brewer reached for a file on his desk and opened it. He pulled out a sheet of figures. “At the last evaluation your portfolio was worth some £75,000.” He glanced at her face and saw the colour had drained from her cheeks. “My dear Miss Anson-Gravetty, are you all right?”

“How much?” whispered Adelaide.

“As I said,” Mr Brewer went on, “you are an extremely rich young woman. The money is now yours to do with as you wish. At present it is invested fairly conservatively, and I suggest, if I may, that you leave things as they are until you’ve had the benefit of some professional advice.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Sorry, Mr Brewer, but I can’t quite take all this in.” Adelaide smiled at him weakly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, my dear, we can sort out all the paperwork and then you can take everything with you. I expect you want to discuss things with your father, hmm?”

“Before we do any of that,” Adelaide said, “may I see the actual will?”

Mr Brewer delved in the file again and producing a document, passed it over to her.

Adelaide read it slowly, trying to take in the meaning through all the legal jargon. There was a small bequest of £200 to his housekeeper, a Mrs Norton, and another to the head gardener of £100, and £50 to every person in his employ at the time of his death.

The village green of Charlton Ambrose, where the Hursts lived, was part of The Manor estate, and this plus another parcel of land beyond it was left to the Parish Council to be used for the benefit of the village.

The residue of my estate is left to my granddaughter, Adelaide Sarah Hurst (now Anson-Gravetty) to be held in trust until she attain the age of twenty-one years, when it shall pass to her absolutely. My trustees, the partners in Messrs Brewer, Harben and Brewer, shall administer the trust in any way they see fit during her minority, including the sale of any property, real or otherwise that I own at the time of my death.

Adelaide looked up at Mr Brewer. “I don’t see any mention of his daughter, Sarah, I think she was called. Why didn’t he leave any money to her? Surely she was entitled to half, even if I had Freddie’s half.”

“I believe Sir George did have a daughter called Sarah, but as you say there is no mention of her in the will. It was my father who drew it up. He may know why. He knew Sir George quite well of course, our firm has been his family’s lawyers for three generations.”

“I see,” said Adelaide. But she didn’t. Why would Sir George have neglected to provide for his only daughter? “It doesn’t sound fair,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s so much money there, she should have had some of it.”

“I’m sure there was a good reason,” Mr Brewer said gently. “Sir George knew what he was doing.” When Adelaide made no comment, he went on, “I hope you will find our stewardship satisfactory. We have been in contact with your stepfather on occasion over the years, but once The Manor at Charlton Ambrose had been sold, he left us to manage everything.

“I’m sure you won’t want to take all these documents back with you on the train,” Mr Brewer said when he had been through them with her. “I’ll have them all delivered to you, or your solicitor in London. Our man Dickens will bring everything up by the end of the week. Would that suit you?”

“I haven’t got a solicitor,” Adelaide said. “I think it would be far better if you continued to handle everything for me. You know exactly what there is. All I would like at present is a regular income if that’s possible.”