Charles Todd - A Bitter Truth

“How did you come by that nasty bruise?” the elder Mrs. Ellis was demanding. “And don’t tell me that Roger inflicted it. I won’t believe it.”

“It’s true, Gran,” Amelia Ellis replied quickly, before Lydia could answer.

“Nonsense. The Ellis men don’t strike their women. Surely a little powder will make you more presentable? I don’t hold with powder as a rule, but in this case, it’s necessary. Regrettably.”

Lydia said, “It was my fault, Gran. Truly it was.” She gestured toward me. “May I present my friend, Miss Crawford? Matthew knew her father in India.”

“Indeed. Don’t change the subject, my girl. What will our guests think, to see you looking like that?”

“I’ll try powder, Gran, I promise.”

Her grandmother turned to me then. “A nursing sister, are you? I hope you’ve brought some other clothing with you. It won’t do to be the skeleton at the feast at dinner tonight.”

“Perhaps I can borrow something suitable from Lydia,” I answered politely. I’d brought one pretty dress with me, expecting to dine tonight, but it appeared that no one contradicted Gran.

Molly came in just then with the tea tray, and Gran inspected it with a frown on her face. “We’ve hit a new low, Amelia,” she said to Mrs. Ellis. “There are no cakes for our tea.”

“Yes, dear, I know. Cook has been holding back eggs and honey and flour for our guests. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I shall write to my MP and demand to know what England is coming to,” she said, taking the first cup of tea and moving to a chair by the fire. “We had no wars in the old Queen’s day. I don’t see why we must put up with them now.”

Mrs. Ellis smiled at me as she passed me my cup. “Yes, Gran, dear, I should think that would be a very good idea.”

“Don’t patronize me, Amelia,” the older woman snapped. “I’m not in my dotage.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, Gran. There are some biscuits here. Would you care for one?”

The elder Mrs. Ellis grudgingly accepted one, and then said, “It’s not what I’m accustomed to. Where’s Roger? He ought to be here. It’s already getting dark. He knows I don’t care for him to wander about on the heath after dark. That shoulder can’t be fully healed, whatever he tries to tell himself.”

“It’s been nearly two years. He’ll be in shortly-”

At that moment the sitting room door opened again, and a tall, fair man entered. He was wearing country clothing rather than his uniform. “Here you are,” he began, and then he saw Lydia. She set her cup aside and rose, unable to speak. But I could see the tears glistening now in her eyes.

He stared at her, several emotions flitting across his face. First surprise, then relief, and finally anger. But he came quickly across the room to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. She flinched in spite of herself, and he dropped his hands at once. “My dear” was all he said, and she nodded, as if she understood without the need for words. He touched her face gently with one finger, and added, “I’m so very sorry.”

“No, it was my fault,” she said tremulously.

Gran, watching them, interjected, “Do have some tea, Roger. You must be frozen.”

The emotional moment between husband and wife was broken, and he stepped back, took the cup his mother handed him with a wry smile, and said, “I was worried. We looked everywhere.”

“I went to London,” Lydia said. “To think, actually. Bess, out of kindness, took me in.”

He turned to me, and I felt the power of his gaze as he thanked me for being such a good friend. My first thought was, He doesn’t believe her . Then where did he think she’d gone? And was that why he wasn’t in London, scouring the city for her? I remembered too her refusal to let Simon bring us here comfortably in his motorcar.

“We ran into each other unexpectedly. I was glad, we hadn’t seen each other in several years.”

“Indeed.”

I looked him in the eye. “I’m glad to meet you at last,” I said, to give him something to think about. “Lydia has told me so much about you.” It was a common enough remark when meeting someone related to a friend, but I gave it the slightest emphasis, on purpose.

He had the grace to flush at that. He knew exactly what I meant, that she had confided in me about the bruises. And I suspect he understood as well why she had brought me home with her. A buffer, in the event he was still angry.

“Welcome to Vixen Hill,” he said, and I knew we had a sound grasp of where each of us stood now.

He accepted a biscuit from the plate his mother held out to him, then went to sit down next to Lydia.

Gran said, “You were careful with that shoulder, I hope.”

“Yes, of course,” he answered impatiently. “But the doctor instructed me to exercise it to bring it back to full strength. You know that.”

“Exercise and walking off a black mood are two very different things,” she retorted, and reached for another biscuit.

Mrs. Ellis mentioned the guests they were expecting, and Roger said, “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Mother?”

“Yes, why not? Eleanor will wish to see Alan’s stone in its proper place, and Margaret is already here. What’s more, I think it will be good for George. He wasn’t able to stay when Alan was so ill. ”

“I doubt it will be good for him,” Roger argued. “He’s changed, Mother, whether you wish to admit it or not. First Malcolm’s death, and then Alan’s. I’m surprised he hasn’t killed himself, to tell you the truth.”

Her son’s bluntness made her wince.

“He was best man at your wedding. Your oldest friend,” Mrs. Ellis reminded him. “Have a little charity, Roger. He needs patience and understanding.”

“He’s moody and unpredictable these days. He’ll cast a pall over the entire event. I hope he’ll change his mind and stay in Hampshire.”

“You have also been moody and unpredictable, my dear.” Her voice was very gentle. “I think Sister Crawford will agree with me that it’s what war does to one’s spirit.”

Roger said nothing, but I could see that he felt otherwise. It struck me that I’d been right about his selfishness.

“It’s starting to rain harder,” Gran reported, rising to walk to the window. “I hope it won’t last for days the way it usually does. The tracks will be nearly impassable. The ceremony spoiled.”

I looked toward the windows and could see that indeed it was raining, the wind picking up to blow it in sheets against the glass. I could just make out the lawns, and the dark line of heath beyond, visible as if through a veil. I was glad we weren’t traveling in an open carriage from the station just now.

Lydia rose. “Bess, I’ll show you the house, shall I? So that you can find your way.”

I thanked Mrs. Ellis for the tea, and went with her. Out in the passage she sighed. “It wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected. I thought-well, never mind what I thought. But I was very glad you were there, all the same. My backbone, as it were.” She smiled, but there was still a touch of anxiety behind it. “My head was thundering in there. It’s better now. The passage is so much cooler.”

But it wasn’t aching from the heat of the fire on the hearth. I said, “You should rest. It’s been a very tiring day.”

“No, I’m fine. And there’s so much to do.”

I said only, “Lydia, if your mother-in-law is expecting a family gathering, I shall only be in the way. Meanwhile, will you at least speak to your family’s physician? It will set my mind at rest.”

She wouldn’t hear of it. I persisted.

“It wouldn’t do if you had problems with a house full of guests. What’s more,” I added, “the blame would fall on Roger, wouldn’t it? I mean to say, that’s the most conspicuous injury, your hair covers the other.”