Charles Todd - A Bitter Truth

I couldn’t imagine Simon Brandon being afraid of anyone. But I understood that she was trying to protect him from an unpleasant scene. And Roger Ellis was likely to make one.

“We must get word to him,” I said, “unless he learns of the news in Hartfield.”

And where was Davis Merrit? Alive and on the run-or a dead scapegoat?

“I’ll pack my own things,” I told her. “Then we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

But after breakfast, I happened to notice that one of the Ellis motorcars had been brought around. And I could hear Gran’s voice echoing around the hall, raised in anger and fear.

I ran down the stairs, thinking that something terrible must have happened. But when I got to the hall, I found only Mrs. Ellis sitting by the hearth, tears streaming down her face while Gran was at the door, arguing vehemently with her grandson.

It was only then that I noticed that he was wearing his uniform and his greatcoat. I’d seen him in his uniform every day, but this time he wore it with a very different air. I’d been a part of a military family all my life, and I knew the look of a man on his way to war.

He turned to me as I came into the room and halted abruptly, realizing that I’d walked into the middle of a family quarrel.

“Will you please tell Lydia for me that there’s no need for her to leave Vixen Hill? I’m rejoining my regiment tomorrow morning. I’ll be on my way to France in a few days’ time. She’ll be safer here than on her own in London.”

I answered, before I’d quite considered what I was saying, “Your leave isn’t up. I should think your family still needs you. And this business with Lieutenant Hughes’s death has surely reopened old wounds.”

“She’s right,” Gran said, holding out a hand to me, asking me to join her at the door. “We still need you, Roger. Don’t be rash. Sleep on this decision. You may feel differently tomorrow.”

“Ten days or so won’t make all that much difference,” he said shortly. “It’s better if I go and get it over with.”

Mrs. Ellis said from her chair near the fire, “And if you are killed in those ten days? Do you think we will find that easy to bear?”

Gran said angrily, “Let Lydia go to London and get it out of her system. She’ll come back, wait and see if she doesn’t. This is her home, you’re her husband. She’ll come to her senses soon enough. There’s no need to penalize your mother and me just to punish her.”

“I’m not punishing her,” he wearily answered his grandmother. “We’ve got off on the wrong foot. I’ve been away three years. I came back a very different man from the one she remembered. If I leave now, before anything else goes wrong, we might salvage something out of this muddle of a marriage.”

But Gran wasn’t to be put off. “You’re going back for all the wrong reasons. If you’re killed, should we blame Lydia for sending you away like this? I promise you we shall. It’s her fault as much as yours, and your mother and I will be the ones to have to live with that.”

“I’m not going to die, Gran. God willing, the war will end soon. Now the Americans have stepped in, we’ll have a chance to see this business finished. When I come home again, Lydia and I may be able to mend matters and live together somehow.”

Gran was inconsolable and said fiercely, “Think of your mother if you don’t care about breaking my heart. You were the closest to Juliana. Losing you will be like losing her all over again. You can’t do that to her. Now go back upstairs and put this foolishness behind you. We’ll say no more about it.”

He bent to kiss her cheek. “Good-bye, Gran.” And he was off, striding to the motorcar without looking back. “I’ll leave it at the station. You can pick it up anytime that suits,” he called as he got behind the wheel. And then he was gone.

Gran stood there in the open doorway, the cold winter air swirling around her, blowing her gray hair free from the bun at the nape of her neck and whipping it in her eyes. She brushed it away and watched her grandson out of sight.

Then she turned and without a word stalked across the hall to the stairs and climbed them.

Mrs. Ellis, trying to stifle her sobs, had shut her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to see the motorcar disappear down the lane. Then she got to her feet and without looking at me, murmured in a voice thick with tears, “I must speak to Molly about lunch.”

And she was gone, leaving me there in the hall alone.

I didn’t quite know what to make of what appeared to be Roger Ellis’s altruism.

It dawned on me that he was running away, more than he was running to.

Who did he really believe murdered George Hughes? Davis Merrit for Lydia’s sake-Lydia herself-or someone else in his own family?

For that matter, had he himself killed his friend? I couldn’t see why. Unless it was to prevent Lieutenant Hughes from bringing that child home from France.

There was nothing I could do. For any of them. And if I left, they would be free to mourn Roger’s decision in their own way.

I started for the door, but Margaret came in, concern drawing her brows together in a frown.

“What on earth is wrong with Mama? She’s stripping Roger’s bed as if her life depended on it. And I can’t get a word out of her!”

“He’s just left,” I told her. “To rejoin his regiment.”

“No, you must be mistaken. He didn’t come to say good-bye-”

I didn’t know how to answer her.

“It’s Lydia, isn’t it? He can’t bear to be in the same house with her now.”

“I don’t think-” I began, attempting to say that it wasn’t my place to pass judgment.

But Margaret cut across my words. “Don’t try to defend her. Neither one of them is blame free, I’m aware of that. They’ve been at odds almost since Roger came home. But Lydia leaving for London the way she did was a last straw. And her work with Davis Merrit didn’t help matters. Did she tell you? She refused to give it up, even after Roger asked her to break it off. I don’t condone his striking her. But you can only push someone like my brother so far.”

She paced to the hearth and back. “I don’t know how Mama will cope. Not to mention Gran. It’s really selfish of him to do this to all of us.” But as she turned back toward me, still pacing, I could see the tears in her eyes.

“Your grandmother was terribly angry with him.”

“As well she might be.” She stopped in the middle of the room. “I must tell Henry. We were thinking of leaving this morning, but I expect we ought to stay on for a few more days. Until Mama has come to terms with what he’s done. May I ask if you’re planning to leave today?”

As a hint, it was rather broad. In her eyes, I was responsible for Lydia going to London. And I could easily understand that. “Yes, I expect I shall. If someone will send a message to The King’s Head, for Simon Brandon. He’s driving me to Somerset.”

“Someone must retrieve Roger’s motorcar from the railway station. If an hour’s time will be convenient for you?”

“Yes, of course,” I agreed politely. Then I asked, “Do you think Lydia will still wish to go with me?”

“We’ll be very angry with her, if she does,” Margaret answered tightly. “She’s needed here. Henry and I can’t stay more than a few extra days. And what then?”

“There’s Alan’s wife.”

“No. It needs to be Lydia. She’s Roger’s wife, after all, and she has duties here.”

I thought it a very selfish perspective, but didn’t say so.

She left to speak to her husband, and I went to stand at the door, putting off speaking to Lydia. Looking out past the holly trees to the immense stretch of heath spread out before me, I found myself thinking about Roger Ellis, still wondering why he had made such a sudden and dramatic decision. There were so many reasons.