Kate Morton - The House at Riverton aka The Shifting Fog

‘Pooh. It’s been over a year.’

‘Pa doesn’t forgive easily. David knows that.’

‘But it’s such a funny letter. Read again the bit about the mess hall, the pudding.’

‘I’m not going to read it again. I shouldn’t have read it the first three times. It’s far too coarse for your young ears.’ She held out the letter. It cast a shadow across Emmeline’s face. ‘Here. Read it yourself. There’s an enlightening illustration on the second page.’ There was a warm breath of wind then and the paper fluttered so that I could see the black lines of a sketch in the top corner.

My footsteps crunched the white stones of the path and Emmeline looked up, saw me standing behind Hannah. ‘Ooh, lemonade,’ she said, withdrawing her arm from the pool, letter forgotten. ‘Good. I’m dying of thirst.’

Hannah turned, tucked the letter into her waistband. ‘Grace,’ she said, smiling.

‘We’re hiding from Old Grope-ford,’ Emmeline said, swinging to sit upright, her back to the fountain. ‘Ooh, that sun’s delicious. It’s gone straight to my head.’

‘And your cheeks,’ Hannah said.

Emmeline raised her face to the sun, closed her eyes. ‘I don’t mind. I wish it could be summer all year round.’

‘Has Lord Gifford been and gone, Grace?’ Hannah said.

‘I couldn’t say for sure, miss.’ I rested the tray on the fountain edge. ‘I should think so. He was in the drawing room when I served morning tea and Her Ladyship didn’t mention he was staying.’

‘I hope not,’ Hannah said. ‘There’s enough that’s unpleasant at the moment without him making excuses to look down my dress all afternoon.’

A small wrought-iron garden table was nestled by a cluster of pink and yellow honeysuckles and I carried it over to hold the refreshments. I planted its curled feet amongst the stones of the path and set the tray on top; started to pour the lemonades.

Between thumb and index finger, Hannah twirled a strawberry by its stalk. ‘You didn’t happen to hear any of what Lord Gifford was saying, did you, Grace?’

I hesitated. I wasn’t supposed to be listening when I served the tea.

‘About Grandfather’s estate,’ she said. ‘About Riverton.’ Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine, and I suspected she felt as uncomfortable asking as I did answering.

I swallowed, set down the jug. ‘I… I’m not sure, miss…’

‘She did!’ Emmeline exclaimed. ‘I can tell-she’s blushing. You did, didn’t you?’ She leaned forward, eyes wide. ‘Well then, tell us. What’s to happen? Is it to go to Pa? Are we to stay?’

‘I don’t know, miss,’ I said, shrinking, as I always did, when faced with Emmeline’s imperious attention. ‘Nobody knows.’

Emmeline took a glass of lemonade. ‘Someone must know,’ she said haughtily. ‘Lord Gifford, I’d have thought. Why else was he here today if not to talk over Grandfather’s will?’

‘What I mean, miss, is it depends.’

‘On what?’

Hannah spoke then. ‘On Aunt Jemima’s baby.’ Her eyes met mine. ‘That’s it, isn’t it, Grace?’

‘Yes miss,’ I said quietly. ‘At least I think that’s what they were saying.’

Emmeline said, ‘On Aunt Jemima’s baby?’

‘If it’s a boy,’ Hannah said thoughtfully, ‘then everything is rightly his. If not, Pa becomes Lord Ashbury.’

Emmeline, who had just popped a strawberry in her mouth, clapped her hand to her lips and laughed. ‘Imagine. Pa, lord of the manor. It’s too silly.’ The peach ribbon that threaded around the waistline of her petticoat had snagged on the pool rim and started to unravel. A long thread zigzagged down her leg. I would have to remember to mend it later. ‘Do you think he would want us to live here?’

Oh, yes, I thought hopefully. Riverton had been so quiet the year past. Nought to do but re-dust empty rooms and try not to worry too much about those still fighting.

‘I don’t know,’ Hannah said. ‘I certainly hope not. It’s bad enough being trapped here over summer. The days are twice as long in the country and there’s only half as much with which to fill them.’

‘I’ll bet he would.’

‘No,’ Hannah said resolutely. ‘Pa couldn’t bear the separation from his factory.’

‘I don’t know,’ Emmeline said. ‘If there’s one thing Pa loves better than his silly motors, it’s Riverton. It’s his favourite place in the whole world.’ She cast her eyes skyward. ‘Though why anyone would want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no one to talk to-’ She broke off, gasped. ‘Oh, Hannah, do you know what I’ve just thought of? If Pa becomes a lord, then that makes us Honourable, doesn’t it?’

‘I suppose it does,’ Hannah said. ‘For what that’s worth.’

Emmeline jumped up, rolled her eyes. ‘It’s worth a lot.’ She put her glass back on the table and climbed onto the rim of the pool. ‘The Honourable Emmeline Hartford of Riverton Manor. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’ She turned and curtseyed to her reflection, batted her eyelids and presented her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, handsome sir. I’m the Honourable Emmeline Hartford.’ She laughed, delighted by her own skit, and began to skip along the tiled edge, arms out to the sides for balance, repeating the titled introduction between bursts of renewed laughter.

Hannah watched her for a moment, bemused. ‘Have you any sisters, Grace?’

‘No miss,’ I said. ‘Nor brothers neither.’

‘Really,’ she said, as if existence without siblings was something she hadn’t considered.

‘I was not so lucky, miss. It’s just Mother and me.’

She looked at me, squinted into the sun. ‘Your mother. She was in service here.’

It was a statement rather than a question. ‘Yes, miss. Until I was born, miss.’

‘You’re very like her. To look at, I mean.’

I was taken aback. ‘Miss?’

‘I saw her picture. In Grandmamma’s family scrapbook. One of the household photographs from last century.’ She must have felt my confusion, for she rushed on, ‘Not that I was looking for it, you mustn’t think that, Grace. I was trying to find a certain picture of my own mother when I came across it. The resemblance to you was striking. The same pretty face, same kind eyes.’

I had never seen a photograph of Mother-not from when she was younger-and Hannah’s description was so at odds with the Mother I knew that I was seized by a sudden and irrepressible longing to see it for myself. I knew where Lady Ashbury kept her scrapbook-the left-hand drawer of her writing desk. And there were times, many times now Myra was away, that I was left alone to clean the drawing room. If I made sure the household was busy elsewhere, and if I were very quick, it wouldn’t be difficult, surely, to glimpse it for myself? I wondered if I dared.

‘Why did she not come back to Riverton?’ Hannah was saying. ‘After you were born, I mean?’

‘It wasn’t possible, miss. Not with a babe.’

‘I’m sure Grandmamma’s had families on staff before.’ She smiled. ‘Just imagine: we might have known each other when we were children if she had.’ Hannah looked out over the water, frowned slightly. ‘Perhaps she was unhappy here, didn’t want to return?’

‘I don’t know, miss,’ I said, inexplicably discomforted to be discussing Mother with Hannah. ‘She doesn’t much talk about it.’

‘Is she in service somewhere else?’

‘She takes in stitching now, miss. In the village.’

‘She works for herself?’

‘Yes, miss.’ I had never thought of it in those terms.

Hannah nodded. ‘There must be some satisfaction in that.’

I looked at her, unsure whether she was teasing. Her face was serious, though. Thoughtful.