Anita Frank - The Lost Ones

‘Well, that’s just it, it might not be.’

The reassuring smile I had mustered wilted under his grim countenance. ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

‘We’ve been here before, you see.’ But it was clear to him that I didn’t see at all. He sighed. ‘Madeleine lost a baby, Stella.’

My stomach plummeted. ‘When?’

‘Just before you came back.’

We stood silent, the air heavy with the solemnity of this awful revelation. ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ I asked at last.

‘You were – you were so unwell. It was early on … She didn’t want to burden you – after all, nothing could be done.’

I brought my hand to my mouth. Dear, darling Madeleine! When I had arrived back, eviscerated by Gerald’s loss, Madeleine had flown to my side like the golden angel she was – compassionate, non-judgemental. She became my rock, my constant, unflinching companion. She had stoically weathered my rages and vicious words, stroked my head as I broke down and sobbed, and read quietly beside my bed as I lay motionless with grief. At a time when I had little inclination to carry on, she never gave up on me; even as others began to lose their patience, she alone defended me. And yet through it all she must have been nursing a terrible anguish. She had prioritised my recovery over her own devastating loss.

‘Oh, Hector, I’m so sorry.’

‘These things happen.’ He couldn’t prevent the tell-tale break in his voice. He took a moment. ‘It’s just, now – she’s not herself at all. I think she’s terrified of it happening again. She dealt with it so bravely last time, but she was devastated, Stella, absolutely devastated. To be honest, I think looking after you is what got her through. It was a welcome distraction from her own pain.’

His words stung me. He flushed, realising how they could be misconstrued. To cover his embarrassment he fussed about, setting his cap straight on his head, before thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking on his heels, waiting for the clouded moment to pass.

‘Madeleine never wanted to go to Greyswick.’ He broke the silence, an apologetic glint in his dark eyes. ‘I had to plead with her to go. Now she’s there, I think she has little else to do but obsess on the worst. She keeps asking to come back to town, but I would never forgive myself if she got caught up in a raid. She’s safe at Greyswick, but I think she would benefit enormously from some company.’

‘She has your mother.’ The words slipped out before I could stop them. Hector picked up on my sardonic tone and winced.

‘As you are well aware, my mother is not the easiest woman to get on with.’

I had only met Lady Brightwell once, at the wedding, and once was quite enough. She was a dour, self-important woman who revelled in the glory of her husband’s honorary knighthood. I could see that she would not make an empathetic companion.

‘Look, I would just be ever so grateful if you could go and keep her company for a while, take her mind off things. What do you think?’

‘Hector, nothing would give me greater pleasure than spending time with Madeleine, especially after what you’ve just told me.’ His motorcar drew along the drive behind us.

‘Please don’t say anything about me asking you to go and stay. I don’t think she’d appreciate my interference.’

‘It’ll be our secret. I’ll telephone her this afternoon and chide her for not inviting me to visit. After all, I’ve never seen your country seat.’

He smiled. ‘I think you’ll like it, it’s a wonderful spot.’

We reached the car. His driver leapt from the front and opened the rear door.

‘Oh, one more thing – Mother is a stickler for protocol and she doesn’t see why a little thing like a war should lead to a fall in standards, so she still runs the house as if nothing has changed. Like you, we’ve lost most of the servants. She has conceded to allowing a maid to serve at dinner, but she still insists on full evening dress and so on. If you were able to bring someone with you, to lighten the load of your visit a bit, that would be tremendous.’

I laughed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for upsetting the smooth running of the household.’

He swept off his cap to kiss my cheek. ‘Thank you, Stella. You will look after her for me, won’t you?’

‘After all she’s done for me? It’s the least I can do.’

I watched the car pull away, sensing this unexpected tête-à-tête had bridged a gap in our relationship and I was surprisingly touched that Hector had taken me into his confidence. Madeleine would not lose this baby, I was determined of that, and I would do everything in my power to help her through the pregnancy. I would be her rock, as she had been mine. The prospect of new life invigorated my soul and my heart lifted at the thought of seeing Madeleine again.

As I walked back towards the house I looked up to see Annie watching me from a first-floor window. For an uncomfortable moment I remained trapped in her steady gaze, until she slowly turned away, vanishing from view. My blossoming happiness was marred by a disconcerting thought. Try as I might, I could see no alternative.

There was only one expendable servant at Haverton Hall.

Annie Burrows would be coming with me.

A few days later, I stood on the platform of a small country station, waiting with ill-masked impatience for Annie Burrows to emerge from the swirling steam with a porter and our luggage in tow.

As the train heaved away, a uniformed chauffeur appeared, and having ascertained my identity, he guided our caravan out to the cobbled front, where a gleaming Rolls Royce awaited us.

It was, the chauffeur informed us, but a short drive to Greyswick. The car purred down narrow country lanes, the high hedges banked with a thick lace ruff of cow parsley, until soon we reached the village of Wick – a sweet little place, boasting an assortment of stone cottages, bronzed with age and weighed down with thatched roofs. There was a blacksmith by the village pond, and beyond stood a square turreted church encircled by a low stone wall, a neat Queen Anne rectory beside it.

We soon glided from the village, the road plunging through a wood before breaking out into open farmland, the cultivated fields either side of us sprouting with green barley shoots, while a ridge of hills shouldered the horizon. Finally, two grey-brick lodges appeared set either side of a great archway, its wrought iron gates already opened for our arrival. A thrill of anticipation stirred in my belly as we skimmed up a long driveway lined with beech trees, last year’s prickly cases still scattered about the bases of their slender trunks.

The parkland about us was pleasant enough, with a few clusters of ancient oaks and a magnificent cedar whose low-slung branches hovered just above the ground. Unlike our park, it was devoid of livestock, but then Brightwell had made his fortune from mining not farming. As the avenue of trees gave way to iron railings, I caught my first glimpse of a large grey edifice in the distance. Gradually its intriguing outline began to take shape until, at last, the driveway billowed out into a gravelled carriage sweep and Greyswick loomed above us.

My first impressions were not favourable. It had been set square on to the drive, designed to impress and perhaps even overawe those who approached, though it was blatantly apparent the house would have enjoyed a far better aspect had it been positioned more with aesthetics, rather than vanity, in mind.

The chauffeur opened my door and I shuffled out, taking a good look at the monstrosity before me. The house was an incoherent fusion of architectural styles. The gabling appeared faux-Jacobean, but the enclosed porch would have suited a Victorian church, while the mullioned windows, Gothic by design, clashed horribly with the ill-advised clock tower, which was itself reminiscent of a Venetian palazzo. The extensive roof line had been trimmed with an open balustrade, underneath which, I was rather startled to observe, leered a menagerie of gruesome gargoyles. The whole extraordinary effect was, I thought, appalling.