Kate Morton - The House at Riverton aka The Shifting Fog

‘Six o’clock,’ Emmeline said, smiling broadly. ‘What a thrill.’

Robbie arrived at five-thirty. It was an irony, thought Hannah, that someone who made a habit of arriving without announcement should become so excessively polite when meeting someone even less reliable than he.

Emmeline was still dressing so Robbie sat in the drawing room with Hannah. She was pleased finally to have opportunity to explain about Deborah, the way she’d goaded Teddy into making his decree. Robbie told her to forget it, that he’d guessed as much. They spoke then of other things and time must have flown, because suddenly Emmeline appeared, dressed and ready to go. Robbie nodded goodbye to Hannah, then he and Emmeline disappeared into the night.

For a time it continued thus. Hannah saw Robbie when he came to collect Emmeline and there was little Deborah could do to change things. Once, when she made a half-hearted attempt, Teddy only shrugged and said it seemed only proper that the mistress of the house entertain guests who called for her younger sister. Would she have the fellow sit by himself in the drawing room?

Hannah tried to satisfy herself with precious snatched moments, but found herself thinking about Robbie between times. He’d never been forthcoming about what he did when they weren’t together. She didn’t even know where he lived. So she started imagining; she’d always been good at games of imagination.

She managed, rather conveniently, to ignore the fact that he was spending time with Emmeline. What did it matter anyway? Emmeline had an enormous group of friends. Robbie was just one more.

Then one morning, when she was sitting at the breakfast table with Teddy, he flicked his hand against his open newspaper and said, ‘What do you think of that sister of yours, eh?’

Hannah braced, wondering what disgrace Emmeline had caused this time. She took the paper as Teddy passed it across the table.

It was only a small photograph. Robbie and Emmeline leaving a nightclub the previous evening. A good shot of Emmeline, Hannah had to concede, chin lifted, laughing, as she pulled Robbie by the arm. His face was less obvious. He was in shadow, had looked away at the critical moment.

Teddy took it back and read the accompanying text aloud: ‘ The Honourable Miss E Hartford, one of society’s most glamorous young ladies, is pictured with a dark stranger. The mystery man is said to be the poet RS Hunter. A source says Miss Hartford has hinted an engagement announcement is not too far away .’ He laid the paper down, took a forkful of devilled egg. ‘Quite the dark horse, isn’t she? Didn’t think Emmeline was the sort to keep a secret,’ he said. ‘Could be worse, I suppose. Could have set her cap at that Harry Bentley.’ He dabbed his thumb at the corner of his moustache, wiped away a clot of egg. ‘You’ll talk to him though, won’t you? Make sure everything’s above board. I don’t need a scandal.’

When Robbie came to collect Emmeline the following night, Hannah received him as usual. They spoke for a time as they always did, until finally Hannah could stand it no longer.

‘Mr Hunter,’ she said, walking to the fireplace. ‘I must ask. Do you have something you wish to speak with me about?’

He sat back, smiled at her. ‘I have. And I thought I was.’

‘Something else, Mr Hunter?’

His smile faltered. ‘I don’t think I follow.’

‘Something you wanted to ask me about?’

‘Perhaps if you told me what it is you think I should be saying,’ said Robbie.

Hannah sighed. She collected the newspaper from the writing bureau and gave it to him.

He scanned it and handed it back. ‘So?’

‘Mr Hunter,’ Hannah said in a quiet voice. She didn’t want the servants to hear if they happened to be in the entrance hall. ‘I am my sister’s guardian. If you wish to become engaged, it really would be polite for you to discuss your intentions with me first.’

Robbie smiled, saw that Hannah was not amused and coached his lips back into repose. ‘I’ll remember that, Mrs Luxton.’

She blinked at him. ‘Well, Mr Hunter?’

‘Well, Mrs Luxton?’

‘Is there something you would like to ask me?’

‘No,’ said Robbie, laughing. ‘I have no intention of marrying Emmeline. Not now. Not ever. But thank you for asking.’

‘Oh,’ said Hannah simply. ‘Does Emmeline know that?’

Robbie shrugged. ‘I don’t see why she’d think otherwise. I’ve never given her reason.’

‘My sister is a romantic,’ said Hannah. ‘She forms attachments easily.’

‘Then she’ll have to unform them.’

Hannah felt sympathy for Emmeline then, but she felt something else too. She hated herself as she realised it was relief.

‘What is it?’ Robbie said. He was very close. She wondered when he’d moved to stand so close.

‘I’m worried about Emmeline,’ Hannah said, stepping back a little, her leg grazing the sofa. ‘She imagines your feelings more than they are.’

‘What can I do?’ said Robbie. ‘I’ve already told her they’re not.’

‘You must stop seeing her,’ said Hannah quietly. ‘Tell her you’re not interested in her parties. It won’t be too much of a hardship for you, surely. You’ve said yourself you have little to speak of with her friends.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Then if you don’t feel anything for Emmeline, be honest with her. Please, Mr Hunter. Break it off. She’ll come to harm otherwise and I can’t allow that.’

Robbie looked at her. He reached out and, very gently, straightened a piece of hair that had come loose. She was frozen to the spot, was aware of nothing but him. His dark eyes, the warmth coming from his skin, his soft lips. ‘I would,’ he said. ‘This minute.’ He was very close now. She was aware of his breaths, could hear them, feel them on her neck. He spoke softly. ‘But how would I ever see you?’

Things changed after that. Of course they did. They had to. Something implicit had become explicit. For Hannah the darkness had started to recede. She was falling in love with him, of course, not that she realised it at first. It sounds impossible, but she’d never been in love, had nothing with which to compare. She’d been attracted to people before, had felt that sudden, inexplicable pull, had felt it once with Teddy. But there is a difference between enjoying someone’s company, thinking them attractive, to finding oneself helplessly in love.

The occasional meetings she had once looked forward to, snatched while Robbie waited for Emmeline, were no longer enough. Hannah longed to see him elsewhere, alone, somewhere they might speak freely. Where there wasn’t the constant risk that someone else might join them.

Opportunity came one evening in early 1923. Teddy was in America on business, Deborah at a country-house weekend, and Emmeline out with friends at one of Robbie’s poetry readings. Hannah made a decision.

She ate dinner alone in the dining room, sat in the morning room after and sipped coffee, then retired to her bedroom. When I came to dress her for bed, she was in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the elegant claw-foot tub. She was wearing a delicate satin slip; Teddy had brought it back from one of his trips to the continent. In her hands was something black.

‘Would you like to take a bath, ma’am?’ I said. It was unusual, but not unheard of, for her to bathe after dinner.

‘No,’ said Hannah.

‘Shall I bring you your nightdress?’

‘No,’ she said again. ‘I’m not going to bed, Grace. I’m going out.’

I was confused. ‘Ma’am?’

‘I’m going out. And I need your help.’

She didn’t want any of the other servants to know. They were spies for Deborah, she said matter-of-factly, and she wanted neither Teddy nor Deborah-nor Emmeline, for that matter-to know she’d been anywhere but home all evening.