The Forgotten Sister Page 21

  I dislike this secrecy, Arthur wrote to me sternly. If you require additional funds you should ask your husband for money. It is his responsibility to provide for you. Nevertheless, his parcel to me also contained a bag of gold, hidden within a beautifully woven shawl.

  You may tell Robert if the secrecy disturbs you, I wrote back airily, knowing he would not betray me. I require the money only so I may buy my husband a Christmas gift. Oh, my duplicity knew no bounds that autumn.

  With Robert I was all docile and mild. I visited him in London; he came to see me in Hertfordshire. We were the very ideal of domestic bliss, if the ideal is a smooth surface with nothing but emptiness beneath. Robert had no suspicions of me. He did not realise that after I had visited the Princess Elizabeth, I had already started to hatch a plan for my own independence.

  Robert was increasingly frustrated that year, chafing at his situation. It was a pleasure to see how he squirmed. He was not welcome at court when King Philip was absent and as Philip had no desire to be long in England, Robert’s ambitions were stymied. He talked of buying a house in Norfolk but I knew he would not. Being a country gentleman was not to Robert’s taste. It was nowhere near grand enough.

  There had been rumours that Queen Mary was pregnant again and for a little while it seemed England might yet have a Catholic heir. I saw how that infuriated Robert and I enjoyed his displeasure, knowing it was prompted by fear and thwarted ambition. But there was no child. Instead the rumours changed to ones of the Queen’s ill health. Robert, I knew, was waiting for her to die but in death as well as in life, Mary was stubborn. She would not end her life to suit Robert Dudley.

  I wanted her to live for ever.

  Meanwhile, whilst Robert simmered, I was frequently left at Throcking to kick my heels in idleness. I had no household to run and precious little business to deal with although Robert did allow me to conduct the smaller matters of his Norfolk estates in his absence. I think it made him feel generous to concede to me a little of the running of my inheritance. No doubt he felt I should be grateful, and I was. The business gave me the opportunity to take a little, just a very little, of the income each time, small enough that Robert would not notice, monies that could get lost in the larger whole, but for me added up to freedom.

  Throcking was a beautiful place, but so lonely. There was no society beyond Mr Hyde’s household. It felt like a closed world. The house too should have been delightful, a manor of mellow brick with a pretty little moat. But in the summer the moat stagnated and smelled and the water was dark and impenetrable. I was as much a prisoner as the Princess Elizabeth in my own way.

  I well remember that day in November when we heard the news of Queen Mary’s death. How could I ever forget? The house was still asleep when there was a clatter of hooves over the bridge and Mr Hyde’s voice rose above the hubbub, shouting for the grooms. We tumbled from our beds; I grabbed my shawl over my nightgown for the autumn air was chill and laden with the scent of wood smoke and cold ash, the fire dead in the grate and too early for a maid to have come in to build it anew. I winced as my feet touched the cold floor.

  I ran to the window. The first light of a grey dawn was creeping across the flat lands about Throcking, a mist floating above the moat, and below in the courtyard I could see William Hyde and Robert and a whole army of men in the Dudley livery. Steam rose from the sweating horses, urgency in every breath.

  ‘The Queen is dead!’ I heard the words pass from man to man, running like lightning through the crowd of servants now thronging the courtyard.

  My heart gave a strange, sickening lurch and I thought I might fall. I opened the casement to call down to Robert, to ask if it were true, but then I saw that he was leaving already. They were leading out another horse for him, a showy white stallion that disliked the morning chill as much as I did and was side-stepping and trying to rear. Robert brought him under control with a ruthless hand, turning once more for the bridge over the moat.

  He paused, looked up and caught my eye. He said nothing, made no gesture, hesitated for less than a breath. I knew where he was going. Robert was ever the showman, even at a time like this, on his white charger as he rode to the Princess Elizabeth’s side. This was his moment, his time at last. Now his ambition would be unleashed.

  I closed the casement silently and sat down.

  Let it begin.

  Chapter 19

  Lizzie: Present Day

  The house looked even worse in the daylight, like a nightmare version of Dickens crossed with an explosion in an upmarket hotel. Every surface was thick with dust. Ivy and Virginia creeper clawed at the windows, cutting out what natural daylight there was. Cobwebs hung as thick as curtains from the chandeliers. Lizzie groaned and stuffed her head under the pillow. Then she realised that the reason she had woken in the first place was because she could hear someone knocking at the door.

  Jules had gone home the previous night when Lizzie had insisted she didn’t need anyone to babysit her. She was desperate to have her own space, which was odd when she had been isolated for so long, but it was how she felt. Jules had grumbled that she needed someone to keep an eye on her but to Lizzie this felt like a watershed. She’d come back to The High to make a fresh start and she was doing that on her own. She’d had a hot shower, drunk some tea and eaten some toast that Jules had whisked up and had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep, much to her own surprise.

  She struggled out from underneath what appeared to be an ancient eiderdown. She vaguely remembered Jules putting her to bed in her grandmother’s room and assuring her that the sheets at least were clean. She wasn’t complaining; she would have slept on a clothesline if needs be. The air was cold and smelled stale; reaching for the huge fur lined coat she had found in the wardrobe the night before, she dragged it on over her pyjamas and stumbled downstairs.

  The knocking sounded again. Lizzie felt disoriented. There couldn’t be anyone at the door because they couldn’t get past the huge gates and even if they had, she shouldn’t open up because it was probably some paps who had discovered where she was – she didn’t want a photograph taken with her hair as tangled as the cobwebs and her make-up all over her face. LIZZIE KINGDOM IN MELTDOWN would be the inevitable headline.

  The knocking was coming from the kitchen. She peered around the open door and saw a face staring back at her through the window. It was an old lady, a very old lady with curly white hair and sharp, bright eyes, her head tilted like an inquisitive blackbird. When she saw Lizzie, she smiled and knocked even more vigorously. Lizzie felt a huge rush of warmth and affection.

  She struggled across the kitchen, stubbing her toe on the table leg and repressing a curse. The woman at the window was gesturing and pointing, by which Lizzie, who couldn’t hear her through the triple glazing, assumed she meant she would go to the back door. This led to another confusing five minutes whilst she tried to find which door led out to the porch and where the keys might be.

  ‘Aunt Avery!’ she said as the door finally creaked open, freeing a spider to bolt for freedom. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you again!’

  The ‘Aunt’ was an honorific title. Avery Basing had been her grandmother’s oldest and closest friend, and godmother to Lizzie’s own mother, Annie.

  ‘Elizabeth!’ The old lady enveloped her in a hug. She was warm and smelled of a very expensive perfume. Her marketing basket bumped Lizzie’s hip making her wince. ‘It’s lovely to see you too! You’ve grown!’ She let Lizzie go and swept past her, small but stately, into the kitchen, where she put the basket down on the work top. ‘My, you’ve some cleaning up to do here. It’s a good job you’ve come home at last.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘Neither the house nor I are fit to be seen.’

  ‘Juliet rang me just now to ask me to look in on you,’ Avery said. ‘I didn’t want to intrude earlier, but really, Elizabeth—’ she glanced at the clock, ‘it’s about time you were getting dressed, isn’t it?’

  Lizzie laughed. She had always liked Aver
y’s no-nonsense style. ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘Excuse me and I’ll go and do that at once.’

  She was away up the stairs and into the shower before Avery could say another word. By the time she came back down, feeling clean and warm in a variety of outlandish outfits from the wardrobe including two pairs of her grandfather’s knitted wool socks, a polo neck jumper and an old tweed jacket, Avery had put the kettle on and there was a delicious smell of warm croissants filling the kitchen. It was a start, Lizzie thought, although the house was still chilly and smelled of damp. The ancient wiring was buzzing threateningly. Lizzie wondered if it would blow all the fuses in the house. Bill, it seemed, had done a cosmetic refurbishment of the place to make it look nice to let, but had cut corners on costs, which was exactly what she would have expected of him.

  ‘Juliet’s told me what’s been going on.’ Avery was ensconced at the big farmhouse table. ‘I hear the police are barking up the wrong tree and the press are behaving as badly as they usually do.’ She shook her head. ‘Really, Elizabeth, this celebrity business isn’t good for you, you know. You need a break from it all.’

  ‘Well, I—’ Lizzie started to say but Avery was still talking.

  ‘We’re all so pleased to have you home.’ She beamed at Lizzie, her bright blue eyes the most vivid thing in a face deeply lined with age. ‘You can help with the choir and join the new bowls club, and at last I can get someone in to cut down those dreadful Leylandii trees that are knocking my wall over. That awful caretaker you employ – what’s his name – Ben, Barry, Bob? – Well, I’m sorry to tell tales, dear, but he’s never here and when he is, he’s so rude! I’ve asked him time and time again to get the Virginia creeper cut back because it threatens all the brick work and he told me that if I organised anything myself that affected your house or garden, he would sue me. I’m afraid he’s a bad lot, dear.’

  Lizzie realised Avery was referring to Bill. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid he is. I’m very sorry I didn’t realise. I’ve been a bit too wrapped up in things.’

  ‘Not to worry.’ Avery was bracing. ‘You’ll have it sorted in no time, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ll add it to the list of things to do,’ Lizzie promised, ‘along with calling in the tree surgeons and a gardener and a cleaning company.’

  Avery looked horrified. ‘My dear, you cannot employ a cleaning company! They will take pictures and sell them to the newspapers and then everyone will know where you are. Surely you know that? We thought—’ she shot Lizzie a sharp look, ‘that you came here for some privacy?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Lizzie said, ‘but I can’t tackle the whole house myself. It’s too much of a mess. I really have let Bill get away with so much because I couldn’t be bothered.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry I’ve neglected The High so badly. I feel as though I’ve let the family down in some way.’

  Avery patted her hand. ‘You’re a busy girl. We all understand, and I know it’s never been a favourite place of yours.’

  ‘No,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘After my mother died, I came to hate the place, but I think that was more to do with Dad than anything else. Now it feels much more like home again.’

  ‘Oh well, your father…’ Avery’s shrug encompassed everything there was to say about Harry Kingdom. ‘Such a vulgar man! I’m sorry to say it, Elizabeth, but it’s true. When he changed the name of The High to The High Kingdom, I thought that summed him up.’ She cocked her head. ‘Is he still alive? I don’t recall seeing an obituary.’

  ‘Just about,’ Lizzie said. ‘We haven’t spoken for years. He’s with his fifth wife now and runs a nightclub in California.’

  ‘Each to their own, I suppose,’ Avery said, with a sniff that indicated just how much she disapproved of Harry Kingdom.

  Lizzie smothered a smile. ‘I promise I won’t let the place go again,’ she said. ‘And I need a piano tuner for the baby grand,’ she added. ‘I’d like to write some songs.’

  ‘I know someone,’ Avery said. ‘He tends to my Bechstein. He’s very discreet. I don’t believe he even owns a mobile phone so there’s no likelihood that he would think of posting pictures of your house online.’

  ‘That would be wonderful, thank you,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘The croissants will be ready in a minute,’ Avery said. ‘Would you be a dear and make the tea? I’ll go and fix the heating. I’m a hardy creature, Elizabeth, but it is Arctic in here.’ She looked Lizzie up and down. ‘No wonder you’re wearing such practical attire.’

  ‘Jules and I did try to get the heating going.’ Lizzie immediately felt defensive. ‘We tried to turn it on last night when we arrived but we couldn’t get it working.’

  ‘I’ll have it on in a jiffy.’ Avery was already heading towards the door of the utility room. ‘I have the same system; I’ll just press random buttons until something happens.’

  Lizzie found a teapot, warmed it and added three bags. She imagined Avery wouldn’t approve of weak tea. The croissants were crispy and she found the butter and milk Jules had stocked up with.

  ‘Heavenly,’ she said, as the heating hummed into life and Avery re-entered the kitchen, dusting her palms. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘They aren’t homemade croissants,’ Avery said. ‘I am terrible at cooking and I hate baking with a passion but we do have a couple of excellent delicatessens in town that stock wonderful bread.’ She was rummaging in the cupboard. ‘Here we are; your grandmother’s last batch of whisky marmalade. It will have matured nicely with all that alcohol in it. Ah, how we used to enjoy our nightcap of single malt together.’

  ‘I don’t remember her very well,’ Lizzie said regretfully. ‘I only have impressions of her really – that she was very tall, that she had hair almost the same colour as mine and that she smelled of one of those famous 1990s perfumes. Was it Coty? I remember the bottles. They were so elegant! I wanted to be like her when I grew up.’

  ‘Vanilla Fields.’ Avery smiled. ‘Yes, she was a very elegant woman. You have a great look of her. I often think—’ She stopped.

  ‘What is it?’ Lizzie had a mouth full of delicious croissant; not very elegant at all. Her grandmother would not have been proud of her.

  Avery shook her head. ‘Oh, just what a terrible tragedy it all was,’ she said. The light had gone out of her eyes. ‘Like some sort of appalling play, with everyone dying in a uniquely horrible way, first your grandparents, and then your mother. She should never have married Harry Kingdom.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry if I offend you, dear, but he was never going to be a faithful husband. To have multiple wives or partners plus all those other women; it has to be a sign of a very unsteady temperament!’

  ‘He used to claim it was the triumph of hope over experience,’ Lizzie said, ‘but basically that was just an excuse for his womanising. He’s not a very nice person.’ She picked up another croissant. This one had chocolate sprinkles on the top.

  ‘For a while I was afraid you might follow in your mother’s footsteps and fall for that squalid fellow the papers are so fascinated with!’ Avery declared. She poured another cup of tea for both of them. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me. He is terribly good-looking and I can quite see why women adore him – after all, poor Amelia Robsart was dotty about him for a while – but they had a name for his sort in my mother’s day, you know, dear. He would have been spoken of as a cad.’

  ‘You’re talking about Dudley,’ Lizzie said, her lips twitching.

  ‘Well, of course! Dudley Lester!’ Avery shook her head in disgust. ‘He’s a dreadful lothario. I know you’ve been friends for ever, dear, but don’t step over that line. Not that we think you have,’ she added. ‘We all know it’s complete nonsense. We weren’t surprised to hear about Lettice Knollys.’ She fixed Lizzie with her very clear blue gaze. ‘You need to find yourself a nice beau, my dear. Would you like another croissant?’

  ‘I couldn’t squeeze any more in, thank you,’ Lizzie said. She was simultaneously distracted by Avery’s use of the word ‘bea
u’ and the fact that she was as on top of all the gossip as any celebrity reporter. ‘I didn’t realise you knew Amelia,’ she said. ‘How was that?’

  ‘I know everyone, dear,’ Avery said benignly. ‘Amelia’s mother Jessica Scott was a client of mine in London in the nineteen eighties. I was a fashion designer,’ she added, seeing Lizzie’s look of bemusement. ‘I’m very disappointed you haven’t heard of me. I designed the dress Jessica wore for the premiere of Chariots of Fire. It was known as the naked dress ever after and quite stole the show!’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’d have liked to see that.’

  ‘I’ll show you the photographs,’ Avery said with a smile. ‘Celebrity is very fleeting, Elizabeth dear. None of us are immortal, as you’ll discover.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘I think I’ve already learned that,’ she said. ‘Do you know Amelia’s brothers and sisters as well?’

  ‘Not the younger ones,’ Avery said, ‘not the poor boy that’s disappeared.’ Her expression lightened a little. ‘I know Arthur. I knew his fiancée Mia too.’

  ‘I thought she was called Jenna,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Jenna,’ Avery said vaguely. ‘Of course. Yes, she was sweet girl but so frail. In spirit, I mean. For a while they were all so close, Arthur and Jenna and Dudley and Amelia, before it all turned sour. Amelia bought Oakhangar Hall from me, you know. It had been in my family for centuries. And then she did all those appalling alterations,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘as though it didn’t look like a dog’s breakfast already.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised,’ Lizzie said slowly. ‘That Oakhangar had belonged to your family, I mean. I’ve only been there the once, when Dudley and Amelia got married.’