Jemma’s Version
My stay here in Denby has been miraculously more tolerable since Delphina and her disquieting lady-in-waiting left.
Ashford and I see each other very little, basically just during meals, after which he disappears into his study, goes to London for a meeting at the House of Lords, to the club with Harring, or to polo practice. Not that I dislike this kind of balance. It’s not that bad, I must say.
I can roam around Denby Hall undisturbed, without having to do it on tiptoe. I must say it’s quite a nice place and there’s little left of that dark and austere manor house I saw when I arrived. The warm season lights up the long corridors from the stained glass windows (Lance told me that’s what they’re called).
And the park! It’s massive, I could go riding for days and not tread the same ground twice.
My parents and I take long rides in the afternoon before tea time, which is a nice way for them to get to know the grounds and all parties to get some exercise.
It’s been quite a while now since they settled here, much more than would be acceptable for a short visit. I realised this because, on the few occasions we talk to each other, Ashford often asks me if my parents’ stay at Denby is pleasant, if they like Denby, if their accommodation suits them. He asks about this just a little too often, his questions must have some sort of hidden agenda.
Today, Ashford will be home earlier from London to have tea with the three of us, but I have the feeling that it might be an excuse to ask them to leave. Due to this thought in my head, I’m not enjoying the ride at all.
In addition, the weather, which was beautiful and sunny earlier, is now overcast with grey clouds, and the woods are immersed in semi-darkness which is not good for my mood.
“Hey cutie-pie, what’s wrong?” My mum asks me.
“It must be the change in the weather,” I reply vaguely, as I don’t want to make them anxious with my suspicions.
“Be happy, baby, there will be time to be sad further on in life. But now you’re young, beautiful, lucky and loved: the sun rises for you every day!”
“Aye, Ashford is a good laddie, and that’s quite surprising considering your standards – trust a dad on this, they were all quite odd,” says my dad, who is following us on Westfalia.
“Yes, he comes from an old-fashioned conservative family, but what counts are his feelings, and he cares a lot about you,” insists my mother.
At these moments, I feel like a liar and an impostor: I lie to my parents, who have always made sincerity their rule of life, and I hide that I sold myself to earn a title and an inheritance.
“It’s starting to rain.” I change the subject as soon as I notice some drops on my trousers.
My mother turns Agincourt on the trail. “We’d better go back, then, before a storm starts!”
We get back to the stables as a bolt of lightning splits the sky in two, and rain starts pouring down heavily.
We dismount to lead the horses into the stable yard, but a bolt of lightning that illuminates the area and a deafening roll of thunder frightens Westfalia, she runs backwards, tearing the reins from my father’s hands and starts galloping towards the woods.
“Westfalia, no!” I shout, dropping Poppy’s reins and running along the driveway, pointlessly.
“Carly, Jemma, go back! I will go and find her!” Says my father resolutely, mounting Poppy.
Outside, the storm is getting more and more violent and the wind is roaring through the trees, I pace up and down the stable block, soggy and anxious. My mother, on the other hand, is feeding a whole bunch of carrots to Agincourt, who nickers happily.
“Will you calm down, Jemma? Dad will be back soon!”
“You do not understand! Westfalia is Delphina’s favourite mare. If something happened to her, it would be a tragedy. Just what we bloody need!”
My mother is the picture of composure. “Everything will be fine.”
“I’m panicking! Since my first day here, I’ve constantly been scrutinised and, just so you know, I’m not welcome in this house and neither are you. All they’re waiting for is a single mistake, a false step, or an excuse to kick us out!” I shout at my mother, and then I go back to my drama. “Why Westfalia?”
“Delphina isn’t here and doesn’t have to know. As far as Ashford goes, I would stop worrying if I were you.”
Hearing her words, I forget all my good intentions: “I can’t! When you showed up here by chance, Ashford put on a happy face, but he’ll soon get tired of having you around in his perfect mansion, that’s for sure!”
My mother walks towards me, taking me in her arms. “You’re too upset now, you can’t think clearly. Go to your room, have a nice warm bath and get changed.”
When I get inside the house, I bump into Ashford, but I carefully avoid him and go straight to my room. I only hear him ask the question: ‘What about our tea?’, to which I don’t reply.
Finally, when darkness has fallen, Dad brings Westfalia home safe and sound and sums up the whole thing by saying: “This feartie doesn’t like storms.”
At dinner, there is just me and Ashford, sitting at opposite ends of the long table, and we exchange a few pointless words. He just says that he’s happy that my father has retrieved the precious Westfalia and that he’ll look forward to having tea with my parents tomorrow.
Message received, arsehole: now your mother isn’t here and you no longer need my parents to annoy her, you want to send them back to London to live under a bridge, but not before you have offered them a cup of your damn tea.
*
After dinner I go to my parents’ apartment, where I find the familiar bottle of Belladonna tincture on the table. When I was little, my mother used it to make my temperature go down.
“Dad?” I ask my mother as soon as I see her come out of their bedroom.
“Riding in the icy rain gave him a slight temperature.”
I enter the room, where I see that my dad doesn’t look good at all, and I take the thermometer from the bedside table. “Slight? 39°C is not a slight temperature!” I say, getting angry.
“It will come down soon,” my mother replies calmly.
“A 39°C temperature will not come down with a few drops of Belladonna!”
“You know we don’t use medicines.”
“But I do, and I’m going to get him a nice aspirin cocktail right now!”
“I don’t approve of that,” says my mother, crossing her arms.
“But I do,” I oppose, resolutely.
While I give my dad the tablets to swallow, my mother shakes her head in disappointment. “You’ve been bad tempered all day, I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.”
“I’ve told you already, but apparently you don’t want to understand: I think Ashford has got bored of having you in his house. You’ve been here almost a month, he welcomed you with a happy face and all, but, at dinner, he told me again that he ‘wants to have tea with you’ tomorrow.”
“But it’s just afternoon tea, honey!” My mother objects.
“Mum, read between the lines: it’s just a way to kick you out!”
“It isn’t,” my dad mumbles.
“What?” Mum and I ask in unison.
“It’s not like that, Jemma,” he goes on muttering.
“What isn’t, Dad?” I draw nearer to him.
“We were invited here,” he continues. “Ashford came to London personally.”
“Vance!” My mother exclaims in a strangely warning tone.
“No, Carly, let me talk. Ashford knew you were worried about us, so he came to London without telling you, and proposed we settle here at Denby. He didn’t give us any deadlines or terms.”
Dad’s words ring in my head like a bell and I struggle to make sense of them. “You just said that A… Ashford did that?”
My mother sits on the bed next to me. “Ashford didn’t want you to know it was his idea, so he asked us not to tell you and to show up here by surprise, as if we were just visiting you.”
I’m lost for words.
“Stop worrying about that tea,” she comforts me. “I feel that you’re still kind of in awe of Ashford, which is understandable, as you haven’t been married for long. You will discover each other over time, and you will also become familiar with all his ways to show you he loves you, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.”
*
After they told me that, I didn’t sleep at all, neither that night nor the following one. I feel I should thank him, at least, but I don’t know how.