Chapter 18
It had been a relief for Catherine to get away from the so-called mourners and back to Barford Hall. She had not imagined for a moment ever seeing that place as a refuge again, but now, less than a day after she had arrived from Derbyshire, she did.
When she first arrived from Derbyshire, her carriage drawing up outside the front of the hall, Catherine had felt a familiar old sense of doom settle around her like a cloak. It was so familiar, in fact, that she realized she must have lived her whole life there with that very feeling down in the pit of her belly.
She peered out of the window at the gleaming stone front and was strangely amazed by the sheer size of the hall. How vast and unwelcoming it looked to a person who had spent the last eight years within the welcoming walls of Ivy Manor.
Catherine stared up at the windows, too many to count, and wondered if anybody peered back out at her from within.
“Allow me, My Lady.” The driver had opened her door and was ready to help her down.
“Thank you,” she said meekly and felt a little shudder at the formal address.
She had been only Catherine in her home in Derbyshire, never Lady Catherine. Sometimes Miss with the servants, but never, ever My Lady. She had not wanted it, and Celia and Charles Topwell had seemed relieved by that. Theirs was a small establishment, and their comfortable and warm staff would have felt awkward and much less confident.
And for Catherine, it had been such a wonderful break with tradition. She had never realized how very isolating a title could be until she no longer used one and found herself in such warm and constant company.
Catherine stepped down with the help of the driver and stood on the gravel apron just staring at the great wooden door. She felt lost as if she did not belong there, and she did not. Her legs would not propel her forward to take her to the stone steps leading up to the door. She was a guest, a stranger, not family.
Worse still, despite knowing her father to be dead, she could hardly trust it and imagined him flying at her, his colour high and countenance furious as he demanded to know what she thought she was doing there.
“Catherine?” came a familiar voice behind her.
Catherine shrieked and spun around, fully expecting to see the angry-faced father of her imaginings bearing down upon her.
Of course, he did not, and she gave a great embarrassed sigh of relief to see Philip standing there.
“I am so sorry, Catherine. You are a little earlier than I expected, and I fear I was not inside the house ready to receive you.”He turned and looked back towards the stables from where he had just come. “I am just returned from town. Forgive me.” He smiled at her, but she could see a little unease in it.
Philip looked as cautious as she felt, and she knew he was waiting for some cue from her. She felt like a child again and looked at him as she always had. As if they were in trouble of some kind and silently awaiting the physical manifestation of their father’s wrath together.
“He really is dead, is he not?” Catherine asked and then smiled as she realized how ridiculous her question was.
“Yes,” Philip said and slowly began to grin. “Would you care to see him? He is laid out in the library of all places.”
“Good Lord, no!” Catherine said and raised a hand to her mouth as Philip laughed.
“How wonderful it is to see you,” he said and advanced upon her with his arms outstretched and all signs of awkwardness gone.
The moment she was in his embrace, Catherine relaxed entirely. She had missed Philip more than she could ever say, and as suddenly as she had relaxed, she was in floods of tears.
“I know. I know,” he whispered and turned her towards the front of the hall before quickly turning back to the driver. “My man will be down in a moment to take Lady Catherine’s things.”
“Very good, Lord Barford,” the man said, and Catherine bristled a little.
Philip had simply been Lord Ambrose when she had last been home, and it seemed so strange now to hear him addressed with what was her father’s title.
“Of course. Lord Barford,” she said and was glad of a distraction from her tears.
“It will take a good deal of getting used to,” he said and gently took her arm to lead her into the hall. “We shall go into the drawing room, and I will send for some tea and sandwiches; what do you say?”
“Thank you. I am so tired suddenly.”
They walked in comfortable silence all the way in, stopping only so that Philip might help her out of her cloak and bonnet on the way. The drawing room when she entered had clearly not changed at all in all the years she had been away.
The same dark green and red prevailed to make it the most unsettling space. It was all too severe, too dark, and the determinedly masculine decoration made the immense room seem very much smaller than it really was.
Tea was finally served to them by a maid she recognized but whose name she could not remember. The woman looked at her with shy warmth, and Catherine, now more used to servants who were not terrified of their own shadows, smiled broadly.
Only a day later, and Catherine could hardly remember what she and her brother had talked about in that first meeting of theirs. She had been a tumult of emotions on the inside and had only a vague recollection that she had told him of Celia and Charles’ kindness to her over the years.
Being truly exhausted, Catherine had finally begged to be released so that she might sleep. Philip, as understanding and sweet as he had always been, helped her up the stairs and told her that she need not force herself to come down to dinner. She was to rest well, and some food would be sent up to her chamber later.
Catherine had awoken the next morning with a sense of relief. It was as if she had survived her first night back at Barford Hall and so could trust that the man who had made her so very unhappy really was in his coffin in the library, awaiting his own burial.
She knew it was a little irreverent to allow such positive feelings on the day she was to attend her own father’s funeral, but she was determined not to let guilt and shame permeate her life any more than it had done already. Catherine had truly had enough of such emotions and was fully intent upon burying them alongside the old Earl of Barford that day.
The funeral had been everything she was expecting, or almost, at any rate. The mourners had neither surprised nor disappointed her with their eager attendance, and only the curious appearance of Thomas in the trees on the other side of the graveyard had made the event suddenly unusual.
Catherine had entertained the feeling of being watched throughout the service but, seeing nothing in the distance, she tried to dismiss it. But when Philip had leaned in to throw the customary handful of earth on her father’s coffin, she had seen a movement over by the trees and recognized Thomas immediately.
She knew she had not exactly recognized him by sight for he was well hidden. But she had seen enough movement to know it was him; she recognized his size and shape, not to mention the fact that she was certain she could actually feel his presence.
For the remainder of the funeral, she had maintained her study of the trees, knowing he was in there somewhere and desperate to catch a real glimpse of him. Her heart was pounding, and her mouth was dry, almost as if they were truly about to be in one another’s company for the first time in years.
All the way from Derbyshire, Catherine had both hoped and feared seeing him again. He had never left her thoughts, especially since Henry reminded her of him daily. Henry’s red-brown hair was the exact shade of his father’s, and his eyes were an identical pale blue, so identical that one could be forgiven for thinking they had been plucked from Thomas’ own head.
Only Philip taking her arm to lead her back to his waiting carriage had drawn her attention away, and she followed him blindly, hardly able to concentrate on a word all the way back to Barford Hall.
Now that they were once again in the oppressive green and red drawing room, Philip looked at her with concern.
“You saw him then?” he said quietly.
“Saw him?” Catherine was utterly surprised; surely he could not mean Thomas?
“In the trees.”
“Yes, I did see him. His presence took me by surprise,” she said and cleared her throat before continuing, “although I did not see him so fully that I could be sure.”
“It was him,” Philip said. “I had wondered if he would find his way there today.”
“Well, I daresay he is curious.”
“For a man to hover on the edge of a funeral suggests more than simple curiosity, Catherine.” Philip laughed, and she enjoyed his teasing tone.
“Perhaps,” she conceded.
It was almost impossible for Catherine not to question her brother there and then on everything he knew of Thomas in the last eight years. Seeing Thomas, albeit briefly, had awakened such strong feelings in her that she felt off-kilter, unwell even.
“So, our aunt and uncle really are good people?” Philip said as if he was simply carrying on the conversation of the day before. “Our father’s sister fell a little further from the tree, so to speak?”
“She fell in a different field altogether, Philip. A different world, almost.” Catherine smiled and was grateful for the diversion.
“And what of Derbyshire? What of Little … Little …?”
“Little Hayfield.” Catherine laughed. “It is the most beautiful little hamlet. Just a few houses and an inn. There is not even a church.”
“So, you have lived as a heathen, sister!” Philip was greatly amused, and his determined good mood reminded her so much of their life before they had been so cruelly separated.
“No, there is a church in Hayfield, the neighbouring village. I have always struggled not to call it Big Hayfield. Anyway, it is a large village within minutes of Ivy Manor.” She laughed and could hardly believe they had just buried their closest living relative. “So, I did not live as a heathen. Although I must admit, I was not on speaking terms with the Lord for some time. I simply went through the motions, right down to noiselessly mouthing the words of the hymns instead of actually singing them.”
“You used to do that when we were small.” Philip’s eyes were bright; he seemed happy and at peace to have his sister home again.
“Yes, I did, but I never realized that you knew it.” Catherine flushed happily.
“Was it very awful at first?” He looked suddenly serious.
“Yes, but through no fault of Aunt Celia or Uncle Charles,” she said and experienced a little flash of her feelings in those first days in Derbyshire. “I missed you so much that I cried for a good part of the awful journey from Hertfordshire. I wanted to write to you, but Aunt Celia advised me against it. Not through any cruelty on her part, but because she knew from bitter experience how spiteful and pernicious our father could be. She did not want a letter from me to fall into his hands and for you to suffer some punishment on account of it.”
“I understand.” Philip’s eyes looked glazed, and she hoped he would be able to contain his emotion. If he could not, she would be sunk. “And I had tried everything to find an address for our aunt. I did not know what I would do with it, but I decided it would be enough for me, to start with, to simply know where you were.”
“But you could not discover it?”
“There was nothing to be found until after he died and the attorney gave me the details. Before that, I scoured father’s study every time he left Barford Hall, but I daresay he knew that I would. And I did not even know our aunt’s name, neither first nor last, so I knew I would have no hope in tracing them by some other means.” He cleared his throat loudly. “I felt so helpless.”
“As did I. But you must let it go, Philip. There was nothing either one of us could have done about it. That was how our father worked; that was how he did things. He was always at his most effective when devising punishments, but even he surpassed himself back then. No doubt he congratulated himself daily for the completeness of my separation.”
“He was that sort of a man. I would like to be able to tell you that I finally saw some remorse for the way he had treated you, even for the way he had lived his life, but I cannot. He was the same man on the day he died as he had always been.” Philip shrugged. “Still, I suppose it spared us the pain of loss that we might have felt for a better father. It is small consolation for all that preceded it, but it is consolation nonetheless.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. I felt nothing as I looked down at his coffin.”
“Neither did I.”
“It is done now, Philip, and we shall be strangers no longer.” Catherine smiled, staring into his hazel eyes, so like her own.
“Will you come home now, Catherine?” Philip said, and she realized he spoke hopefully.
“Goodness, I had not thought of it.” Catherine felt suddenly unsteady.
She could not leave Celia and Charles behind, nor the safety that had been set up there for herself and her son. They had a story, and it must be stuck to at all costs.
“Well, I shall not press you, but I should like you to know that this is your home whenever you would wish it. I have missed you more than I can say.”
“And I have missed you. But I suppose I have a life in Derbyshire now. It is a less formal and less privileged life, but it is a good one, and I am fond of it.”
“Do you have a particular friend up there?” Philip approached the subject so delicately that she almost laughed.
“No, I have no understanding with any man and have never had if that is what you are asking.” She grinned.
“I see.” He looked down.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.”
“Philip, it might have been eight years, but I can still read you like a book.”
“It is just that so much has changed since you were here.” He looked so awkward that Catherine felt sure she knew what was coming.
“Thomas Carlton is married,” she said, making her question a statement.
“No, but his father has pushed him into an engagement. At least I think he has, for the lady in question is not someone I can imagine interesting Thomas much.” Philip spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “Although it is true that I have hardly laid eyes on Thomas since you left, and our fathers both saw to it that we never managed a moment’s conversation.” When Catherine said nothing, he went on, “But he has never bothered himself with any courtship since you left. That is why I can only assume it is his father’s doing.”
“But why would it be? His father never gave any thought to Thomas. He is the second son. The afterthought.” She said the last quietly, remembering again how Thomas had cheerfully described them both as such in happier times.
“Because Thomas will one day be the Duke.”
“What?”
“His brother died in an accident some years back. And if I know anything about Thomas, he will have been fending off his father’s attention ever since.”
“But we both know how hard that can be to maintain,” Catherine said miserably, marvelling that she did not feel a moment’s sorrow for the fate of Pierce Carlton.
“Catherine, it is only an engagement, and we both know they can be broken.” Philip gave her a mischievous smile as if they were conspirators in a great plot.
“Not so easily when one’s father is a determined man of title. Especially when that father has an old feud to continually feed.”
Catherine’s mind raced with possibilities she knew could never, ever transpire. She loved Thomas Carlton with all her heart, just as she had always done, but it was her responsibility, and hers alone, to protect the little boy his father had no idea existed.