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  Under Charlotte’s fascinated gaze, Lady Frampton, with a genteel apology, removed her glove and fiddled around in her mouth, removing the teeth she found there. With a slightly puckered smile she stowed them into her bag, from which she had drawn out a second pair. When these were in place Charlotte was the recipient of a flashing smile, revealing a set of even larger teeth, tombstone yellow in colour.

  ‘Waterloo teeth, my dear,’ the old lady boasted proudly. ‘Best you can get.’ Alerted by Charlotte’s puzzled expression, she explained. ‘They was my husband’s teeth, dear, and I kept ’em in his memory. After ’e ’ad all ’is own teeth pulled out he bought these orf an army man of ’is acquaintance.’ She peered at Charlotte and laughed wheezily. ‘You still ’aven’t an idea wot I’m saying, do you, dearie? After the battle of Waterloo there was a lot of dead men, as I’m sure you’ve ’eard. Well, it was quite the rage in those days for dead men’s teeth to be pulled and made up into sets like these. Yes, I see that shocks you, my girl, but let me tell you, there’s nothing like ’em when you wants to get outside of some proper vittles – to get your teeth into, so to speak.’

  Guffawing loudly at her own joke, Lady Frampton allowed Charlotte and the groom to manoeuvre her down the carriage steps and into the vulgar public house of her choice, close by the station. As they paused at the entrance so that the old lady could catch her breath Charlotte’s attention was caught by a familiar figure hastening across the station approach.

  ‘Please, Gran,’ she apologized swiftly. ‘I’ll catch you up in a minute, I’ve just seen somebody I must speak to.’

  Casting to the winds the dignity and decorum required of a Richmond lady, she flew through the crowded station and on to the platform, ignoring the angry protest of the ticket inspector. Too late, the train was even now puffing out of the station, a white turbaned head barely visible, wreathed in a cloud of smoke and steam.

  ‘I wonder if he has heard about Frampton?’ she said aloud, then wiped some smuts from her face, dropped a penny into the ticket inspector’s indignant hand and made her way back to the public house and Lady Frampton. Her companion was in high good humour, despite her fears for the future under Frampton’s rule.

  ‘I’ve been coming ’ere at least once a month,’ she explained, her voice muffled as she tucked into jellied eels and mash, specially made for her. ‘Fanny’s got a shocking cook, no idea how to do anything but boil, and that for hours on end. Like I told you, I’ve been used to good food and plenty of it and in the three years since I let Frampton and Barnard persuade me, against my better judgement, to close me London ’ouse when Fanny ’ad ’er h’accident and come down ’ere to look after ’er, I’ve suffered something cruel. I knew all along it wouldn’t do, Fanny and me’s never got on and she don’t tolerate no interference, let alone lookin’ after – but there you are, it’s done now.’

  She wiped traces of glistening jelly from her whiskery old mouth and beckoned to the waiter to help her to some bloody beef. ‘See, Fanny just serves these fiddling modern courses, one at a time, but I like to see what I’m getting – something to whet my juices – and that’s ’ow they do it ’ere. Just you take a plateful of that roast fowl, or try that beef-steak pie, my dear, you’ll find the suet crust will melt in your mouth. And do you wash it down with some of that good porter, none of your finicking French wines what won’t put you in good heart and good heart’s what you’ll be needing soon.’

  The letter came the next day.

  ‘Tomorrow! My boy will be with me tomorrow!’ Mrs Richmond was beside herself with triumph, so much so that she failed to observe the funereal demeanour of the rest of her family. ‘This letter is from the young man who accompanied him home on the ship, Mr Lancelot Dawkins. He writes that he has the honour – a nice touch of deference, I must say – to be in my boy’s employ as secretary and companion and that Frampton wishes to have the bed in his dressing-room made up for this Dawkins, in case of need during the night.’

  She addressed herself once more to the letter, and failed to notice the glance which passed between Barnard and Charlotte as the latter slumped with sudden relief.

  ‘I am to ensure that Dr Perry is on hand to attend my poor boy on his arrival as the journey will occasion him the greatest fatigue so that he will require complete rest with no disturbance to his poor, troubled soul.’

  ‘Does Frampton, or rather, does this Mr Dawkins inform us, Mama, of the hour of their arrival?’ asked Agnes.

  ‘Why should he? This is Frampton’s home. He is returned to us, the noblest of them all. The hour is immaterial.’

  ‘Immaterial to you, no doubt, Mama.’ The dry comment came from Barnard, who was looking disgusted. ‘But of great moment to Dr Perry. He is a busy man and cannot be expected to dance attendance all day upon Frampton’s whim.’

  As soon as she could decently make her escape, Charlotte changed into her riding habit and ran to the stables. Instead of galloping across the countryside in aimless unhappiness, she set her horse towards the well-kept parkland of Knightley Hall, two miles away.

  ‘My dear.’ Elaine Knightley looked up from her embroidery with a smile of delight as Charlotte was announced. ‘Come in, come in. Kit, fetch a chair, there’s a dear.’

  Charlotte felt the strain slip away before the bustle of kindness as Kit hurried to set a comfortable chair beside his wife’s sofa, and Elaine rang for tea and cake, then, after a thoughtful glance at her guest’s face, she called for the Madeira too. At last, settled amongst the rose-coloured silk cushions, with a glass of wine in her hand and the concern manifest in the faces of her two friends, Charlotte relaxed.

  ‘I believe this is the first time this week that I have been able to sit still without a tight tangle of nerves making me restless. Indeed, even if I were able to remain calm, the rest of the family would infect me with their fidgets. There have even been times when I confess I have failed to find the humour in my situation. I, Char, who invariably laughs at the wrong time and in the wrong place, even I have struggled to raise a smile at Mrs Richmond’s hyperbole.’

  Setting down her glass for a moment, she gave an unexpected grin. ‘I thought Barnard would explode when his mother decided that Frampton’s room must be completely refurbished – ‘a fitting sanctum for England’s hero’. Luckily, she was persuaded that Frampton might like to choose his own decorations, a suggestion she applauded because of her darling’s exquisite taste.

  ‘Though, to be sure, she has received one or two checks to her extravagant outbursts.’ Charlotte’s eyes danced briefly. ‘Once or twice my revered mama-in-law has attributed divine intervention in what she persists in calling Frampton’s resurrection from the dead and on the first occasion she uttered this blasphemy Uncle Henry was so appalled he dropped his gun – we were in the churchyard at the time – and shot the blacksmith’s grandmother’s pet goat when the gun went off by mistake. It cost poor Barnard a good deal of money to set matters straight, particularly as the blacksmith would have preferred to lose his grandmother rather than the goat.’

  She smiled reminiscently and took a sip from her glass, then she looked squarely at both the Knightleys.

  ‘He’s coming tomorrow,’ she said dully. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  It was only a brief lapse, that moment of dread, then Charlotte stretched her lips in a smile and told them, making a game of it, of the anxieties she had discovered in the other members of the Finchbourne household.

  Elaine Knightley listened to the girl who had become, in so short a space of time, so dear a friend and protégé and applauded the courage that made a joke of Henry Heavitree’s fear that his nephew would forbid all incense and saints’ days in favour of abstinence and puritanism. A sudden movement, almost of protest, from her husband made Elaine look at Kit in surprise. He was leaning back now, almost detached, but Elaine saw that he was biting his lip and that the knuckles on his tightly clenched hands were white, as though he were suppressing an overriding anger.

  J
ust once he shot a glance through his eyelashes at the girl who was their guest, then went back to staring blankly at the window. Elaine felt a stab at her heart and knew that, for once, this was no physical ache. Has it happened? she faltered inwardly. Is she the one? The fear that walked with her always, the fear of leaving Kit to sorrow and loneliness, was eclipsed by a sudden, burning jealousy.

  She ventured another look at Kit and saw nothing but kindly concern on his face. Foolish, mawkish creature. She scolded herself for the unbridled imagination of an invalid but inwardly she felt like weeping. For it will come one day, I know it will; if not this one, then some other, and I shall have to pretend I have noticed nothing and protect him when he realizes what he is feeling.

  Gallantly she raised her glass to her lips, concealing a tiny gasp as the real, physical pain struck again, and she resumed her constant crusade to protect Kit from recognizing the extent of her suffering.

  Kit must have noticed her pallor after the sudden flush of colour and he hastened to pour her another glass of wine.

  ‘Nonsense,’ he scolded her lovingly as she demurred. ‘You need your strength, my dear, if we are to make some suggestions to help Charlotte. My own feeling’ – and he stood looking very kindly down at the younger woman – ‘my own feeling is that if, at any moment, you believe you can no longer support the situation at Finchbourne, then you must come here at once and Elaine will take you under her wing. Isn’t that right, my dear?’

  ‘Indeed it is, Kit, well said.’ Elaine smiled at him with approval and turned to Charlotte. ‘My dear child, I would say come now, at once, but it is against your own interests. It would cause talk and that would be to your disadvantage, were you to run away from your husband – or at least until your husband has alienated all our good friends and neighbours! Come and see me – us – as often as you please and remember that we are here as your bolt-hole.’

  Charlotte smiled tremulously and wiped away the suspicion of a tear. ‘I promise,’ she said and then, as Kit bade her farewell and left the room to speak to his steward, she shrugged and smiled at her hostess. ‘Enough of my problems. Let us change the subject, if you please.’

  ‘Certainly,’ agreed Elaine, settling herself against the cushions of the chaise longue and disposing a silk shawl over her knees. ‘Perhaps instead you would like to relieve my vulgar curiosity at last and tell me all about yourself?’

  ‘All?’ Charlotte raised her eyebrows at this outburst of unexpected interest. ‘Not quite all, I think.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be shocked, you know.’ Elaine tilted her head and gave Charlotte her warmest, most encouraging smile.

  ‘No, I know that. But even so …’

  ‘Even so.’ Elaine nodded and changed tack, her face showing her relief that Charlotte was looking less drawn. ‘You know that Kit laughs at me because I read so many novels? Lying here, day after month after year, I have plenty of time to fill and reading foolish romances is one of my trusted methods of doing so. You seem to me to be the epitome of romance as portrayed in such volumes.’

  ‘Romance?’ Charlotte raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘That’s not the word I should use.’

  ‘What?’ Elaine’s tone was satirical. ‘No princess in disguise?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Not even a strawberry mark that will reveal you to be the missing heiress?’

  ‘Not even that. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Surely you will allow that you are poor but honest?’

  ‘Poor, certainly.’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ They exchanged amused grins and Elaine heaved a dramatic sigh. ‘I had hoped, at least, for a Cinderella story.’

  ‘Oh? Cinderella?’ Charlotte’s tone was harsh. ‘And as Prince Charming you had cast … Frampton?’

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ Elaine looked aghast. ‘Don’t look like that. Oh, how dreadful, I’ve brought back the shadow to your face. Forgive me?’

  ‘Of course.’ Charlotte heaved a long, difficult sigh and managed a smile. ‘Perhaps only Mrs Richmond could envisage Frampton as Prince Charming to some poor Cinderella, but not for me, I hope.’

  ‘No.’ Elaine looked suddenly bleak. ‘I had in mind a quite different Prince Charming for you, Charlotte.’

  ‘Really? An unknown prince who will ride to the rescue over the hill in his suit of shining armour?’ Puzzled at the bitterness in her friend’s voice, the younger girl laughed a little then her eyes softened as she recognized the signs of weary pain, and, kneeling beside the chaise longue, she clasped the pale hand in her own.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Elaine. I’m sorry that you have to suffer so … that you cannot …’

  ‘Hush.’ The anger and sadness had vanished and Elaine’s delicately lovely face was as kind as ever as she stroked the tumbled brown hair. ‘Come now, there’s nothing more to say on that topic. Let us try another.’

  Charlotte flung herself back into her chair, casting about her for something, anything to divert Elaine from her suffering.

  ‘I’ll tell you, some of it, about my mother and Australia, and Will. Some of it, but not everything, not even to you.

  ‘Ma was just on fourteen when she had me.’ She told the story baldly, with no embellishment, while Elaine listened with breathless attention. ‘She was brought up in an orphanage and put to work in the parson’s house when she was twelve. The parson’s son came home from school, Eton, I think, and saw her and that was it. He fell in love, so she said, and she thought he was wonderful.’

  ‘Poor child,’ Elaine whispered softly.

  ‘Yes, poor child. I don’t know if she loved him, but she certainly believed him when he said they should be married. To do him justice, so did he. You can imagine how his parents felt when they discovered the lovers. He was only seventeen, after all.’ Charlotte shook her head. ‘You can’t blame his mother, I suppose; who knows, I might have done the same. The boy was shipped back to school and Ma was reported to the magistrate on a trumped-up charge of stealing a brooch. The sentence was transportation to the colonies.’

  She fiddled with her wedding ring, then glanced at Elaine. ‘Everything happened so hastily she didn’t realize she was with child till she was on the transport ship. I think that at that moment, even Ma, the most determined of optimists, must have been seized with despair.’

  Charlotte turned to stare out of the window. ‘You can imagine,’ she said quietly. ‘You can just imagine how Mrs Richmond would take this news – that her cherished hero should be married to the bastard daughter of a transported thief.’ She dashed a hand across her eyes and spoke in a whisper. ‘And there’s more, much worse, that I can’t tell anyone, not even you.’

  She rose and took a distracted turn around the room, coming back to rest again beside her hostess. ‘And now she’s had another letter,’ she told Elaine. ‘Mrs Richmond, I mean. It was from that companion of his, Dawkins, and he reports that Frampton says he’s looking forward to seeing me again, and that he has news of some old friends of mine.’ Gnawing at her knuckle almost until it bled she raised anguished eyes to Elaine. ‘What shall I do? Suppose he knows about Ma? Or Will?’

  CHAPTER 5

  At nine o’clock on yet another glorious morning in early summer the Richmond family were to be found at the trough, awaiting the arrival of the young master.

  At eleven o’clock on that same morning Mrs Richmond, Agnes, Lily and Lady Frampton, together with a reluctant Charlotte, were on show in the morning-room, each lady, with the exception of the oldest present, apparently engaged upon some sewing. Mrs Richmond, indeed, set constant stitches into the scrap of fine lawn that was intended as a handkerchief for her returning hero but Charlotte, observing under her downcast lashes, saw that the needle was not actually threaded.

  Lily was making a cover, in Berlin woolwork, for a gout stool for her dear papa, but today she stabbed viciously at the canvas in a manner reminiscent to Charlotte of a tale told her by an ex convict years before. I wonder, she mused, if I should make a mammet of Framp
ton and stick pins in it? She watched Lily and wondered if Lily really saw the colourful canvas that she held so tightly. She is a country girl, Charlotte realized in sudden alarm. Perhaps her fancy was not so unlikely. That old woman in Adelaide had been transported for making a wax image of her neighbour, perhaps Lily also knew those old tales.

  As with the other women, the piece Agnes was working on was typical of her. With her bull’s eyes puffy and reddened and her long face cast into gloom, she was laboriously sewing at yet another small garment for yet another impending arrival down at the poorer end of the village. As Charlotte watched, Agnes paused for a moment and stared at the tiny nightgown. Pity wrung the younger girl’s heart as she caught the expression on Agnes’s face – poor Agnes, who only wanted a husband to look after and a baby to love, and who regarded the coming of her brother with unmitigated dread.

  And what of me, Charlotte wondered as she worked her way efficiently through a heap of mending, her own and Agnes’s, which she had commandeered in order to release Agnes for her charity work. I have spent a week of craven terror at the prospect of reunion with my lawful wedded spouse, and with good reason, so why am I today consumed with optimism? Surely it is a fallacious belief that no harm can come to me on so beautiful a day?

  Her optimism might indeed be misplaced, she knew, but even so she hugged to herself the knowledge that at least one offer of sanctuary had been made to her. She would not take up the Knightleys’ offer, she could not take advantage of their generosity by making difficulties with their neighbours, though the kindness warmed her heart. But what of Lady Frampton’s situation? If Frampton threatened his grandmother’s dog, would the old lady be earnest in her desire to leave Finchbourne or would she, in spite of her spirit and her own wealth, feel that she could not bear to alienate the only family left to her?

  At half past twelve the Richmond ladies were joined at luncheon by Barnard who had visited every tenant in an effort to stay the general alarm. Mrs Richmond’s temper was beginning to fray and she turned her wrath upon the absent Dr Perry.