The Beekeeper's Daughter (38 page)

‘If it makes her happy, what harm can it do?’

‘A lot of harm, when it makes other people unhappy. I broke away when I went to America, but when I came back I gave in and conformed. That hasn’t made me happy.’

‘Do you have a son?’

‘Yes, Fergus, he’s fifteen.’

‘Then you can use your wisdom to allow him to be who he wants to be.’

‘Not so easy with a mother like Lottie.’

‘I hadn’t accounted for Lottie.’

‘No, she and my mother are very much alike, which is probably why they get along so well. They use the same words: duty, responsibility, community, tradition, heritage, inheritance . . .’ He sighed. ‘There’s a special dictionary for people like them!’

‘Then you must encourage Fergus to go his own way.’

‘Fortunately, I think times have changed and with them the demands. He’s a strong boy. He will do just as he pleases.’ He grinned at her. ‘I will never put pressure on him to do anything against his own wishes. I’m afraid his mother might not be so agreeable.’

‘Does Fergus have brothers or sisters?’ Trixie asked, curious about Jasper’s family.

‘Two younger sisters. Eliza and Cassandra.’

‘How lucky they are to have a father like you.’

‘I adore them,’ he said with feeling, and Trixie realized that his love for his children just made it more impossible for him ever to leave Lottie.

Jasper turned into a driveway where a large sandy-coloured stone house peeped shyly out from behind a thick feather boa of yellow wisteria. The wheels crunched on the gravel, alerting a dog to their arrival, who began to bark excitedly. ‘That’s Winston, Grandma’s boxer. He looks alarming, but is as gentle as a Labrador.’ The front door opened and the old woman Trixie had seen with the vicar stood in the door frame with a wide and welcoming smile. Winston pushed past her and set about sniffing the car importantly. He pressed his nose to Trixie’s window and lifted his ears curiously. Jasper walked round and moved him away. He opened Trixie’s door. ‘Give him a pat, then he’ll leave you alone.’

‘He’s adorable!’ she gushed, scratching the dog behind his ears.

‘If you do that he’ll
never
leave you alone! Hello, Grandma.’

‘Darling, do come in. It’s about to rain,’ said Lady Penselwood.

‘Hello, Lady Penselwood,’ Trixie said, extending her hand.

Lady Penselwood took it and gave it a firm shake. In the other hand she held a walking stick. ‘Now, you look familiar,’ she said, narrowing her eyes.

‘We met briefly outside the church . . .’ Trixie volunteered.

‘Ah yes, I remember now. You see, I might have one foot in the grave, but my mind is still all there. Come inside, dear. Don’t mind Winston, he’ll leave his calling card on Jasper’s wheels, then he’ll come inside through the garden.’ She closed the door behind them. ‘Joan has lit a fire in the sitting room so it’s nice and warm. What a damp day. Frightful.’

‘You have a beautiful home,’ said Trixie, looking around at the Persian rugs and antique furniture that gave the house a stately feel.

‘I took a few things with me when I moved out of the Hall,’ Lady Penselwood told her. ‘I was rather pleased when I found this place. It has charm, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, it really does,’ Trixie agreed, following Jasper into the sitting room.

She was immediately struck by the pictures on the walls. They were all Tekanasset scenes that she recognized at once. ‘Jasper, did you buy these for your grandmother?’ she asked in surprise.

‘No, they were my grandfather’s.’

Trixie gasped at the emergence of a vague memory. ‘Of course, I remember you told me your grandparents once had a house on Tekanasset.’

‘Aldrich loved sailing,’ Lady Penselwood explained, settling into an armchair beside the fire. She placed her walking stick on the floor beside her. ‘Jasper, be a dear and go and tell Joan to bring in some tea. I bought some delicious ginger biscuits at the delicatessen.’ She turned to Trixie, who was gazing at the paintings. ‘My husband was obsessed with boats. I have all his models in the dining room. He used to make them. It was his hobby. A hobby that drove me close to madness.’ She gave an impatient sniff. ‘I think he preferred building boats to being with people.’

‘How did he know the island?’

‘Have you ever come across the Wilson family? Randall Wilson Junior was a friend of my husband. We used to summer there regularly.’

‘Big is a great friend of my mother’s,’ Trixie said, encouraged by the connection.

Lady Penselwood smiled in surprise. ‘How extraordinary! What a small world it is. She’s really called Henrietta, you know.’

‘I know, but everyone calls her Big.’

‘Tell me, did she ever marry?’ Lady Penselwood asked as Jasper wandered back into the room.

‘No. I don’t think there’s anyone brave enough to take her on,’ Trixie replied.

Lady Penselwood laughed. ‘She was a very spirited, outspoken young woman when I knew her.’

‘She’s exactly the same now.’

‘Do sit down, dear. Joan will bring in the tea. I suspect you want to warm up. It’s getting chilly, isn’t it? I remember wintering once on Tekanasset and the sea froze. It was jolly cold there, too. Jasper tells me this is your first time in Walbridge,’ she said as Joan entered with a tray of tea and biscuits. ‘Ah, Joan, you’re an angel. Put them on the coffee table and we’ll help ourselves. Where’s the dreaded Winston?’

‘Asleep in front of the Aga,’ Joan replied. She smiled at Trixie. ‘Hello, dear, lovely to see you again.’

‘I gather you’re interested in your family history,’ Lady Penselwood continued. ‘I find it most peculiar that your father didn’t ever tell you of his heroism.’

‘No, he’s never mentioned it.’

‘Pour us tea, Jasper. Do try a biscuit, Trixie, they’re awfully good. The thing is, my dear, the war changed us all. I thrived.’ Her brown eyes sparkled as she remembered her past. ‘It was an exciting time. I rallied the women and we all mucked in. Well,
nearly
all of us.’ She gave her grandson a disapproving look and Trixie guessed she was referring to his mother, Lady Georgina. ‘We opened our doors to children from London and we had a very jolly time. Your mother was a wonder in the gardens. She and Mr Heath worked tirelessly. She was brilliant with the animals, brilliant with the bees, brilliant in the gardens. She was a great enthusiast and I was extremely fond of her. Then Freddie saved Rufus’s life and we were all so terribly grateful.’

‘Did you suggest they move to Tekanasset?’ Trixie asked, sipping her tea.

‘Well, it’s a funny story.’ She sat back in her chair and sighed. ‘A peculiar story, I think. Pass me a biscuit, will you, Jasper?’

Lady Penselwood took a bite and her whole face confirmed her satisfaction. ‘Well, we all wanted to thank Freddie for what he had done. The war was over and Rufus was alive, thanks to him. Poor Freddie had lost his eye, we were all desperately sorry for that but eternally grateful to him for his act of courage. But he would hear none of it. He came up to the house. I remember it well. Myself, Aldrich and Rufus in the library. Freddie looked desperate, as if he were coming to be punished, not rewarded. Aldrich gave him a whiskey, which calmed him down a bit, but he was frightfully nervous. Then I saw a look pass between Freddie and Rufus and I understood. Freddie
resented
Rufus. Well, I was not surprised, given that he had lost his eye. I suppose he rather regretted his impulsiveness. But one often acts instinctively, without giving it much thought, and I think Freddie felt a certain deference towards Rufus and our family. Anyway, Aldrich told Freddie how much we were in his debt, and that we would relish the opportunity to show our gratitude. Then he came out with it. This extraordinary request to leave the country. To go as far away from England as possible. We were stunned. I mean, Freddie and Grace had lived in Walbridge all their lives. They were part of the fabric of the community, not to mention that Mr Garner had high hopes for Freddie taking over when he retired. So, Aldrich suggested Tekanasset, bearing in mind that Randall was such a dear friend and would think nothing of helping him find a job and a house. It all turned out very well. Randall was a man who got things done. We bought the house within a few weeks and Randall had organized a job for Freddie at the cranberry farm. We were terribly sad to see them go, but it was what Freddie wanted. We never saw them again.’

‘It’s sad that they never came back, not even to visit,’ said Trixie quietly.

‘It was a long way in those days. It still is,’ said Lady Penselwood, putting down her teacup. ‘And I think they didn’t want to remember the past.’

Lady Penselwood looked deeply into Trixie’s eyes. Her expression darkened and her brown eyes brimmed with sorrow. ‘The war changed Rufus, too,’ she said softly. ‘Or rather, the
end
of the war changed him.’ She gave the word ‘end’ a heavy emphasis and Trixie realized that she didn’t just mean the war, but the era. ‘You see, we lived in an unrealistic time. Everything was so intense, so immediate. We all thought we’d die in the morning. Life had to be grabbed and savoured for its frail and fleeting sweetness. But at the end, when it was over, we had to return to our lives, and in a funny way normality was dreary by comparison. The excitement was gone. The surreal quality that enabled us to live dangerously was gone, too. People had indulged in affairs. They had loved fiercely because they realized that life was short and they wanted to cling to it. Rufus suffered terribly.’ She tilted her head and smiled sadly at Trixie. ‘I hope your mother found happiness on Tekanasset.’

‘She did, thank you. Although—’ Trixie hesitated, holding Lady Penselwood’s stare in her own. ‘I think she left something precious behind. Something she could never get back.’

At that moment Lady Penselwood was inspired by an idea. Her face grew alive again and her brown eyes twinkled with intent. ‘Jasper, be a dear and go upstairs. In the right-hand drawer of my dressing table is a blue velvet bag. Bring it, will you?’ Jasper disappeared into the hall and up the stairs. ‘There’s something I want you to give your mother. It’s a silly trifle. But it will mean something to her. When are you leaving?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘How lovely to have met you, Trixie. Tell me, how is your mother?’

‘She’s not well, I’m afraid. She has cancer.’

‘What poor luck.’

‘It is, but she doesn’t want any fuss. She’s determined to carry on as if she’s well.’

‘I will pray for her recovery.’

‘Thank you, Lady Penselwood.’

Jasper appeared with the velvet bag. Trixie was curious. He handed it to his grandmother. The old lady looked at it fondly, as if it had a special sentimental value and it cost her to part with it. ‘Give this to Grace with my love,’ she said, holding it out.

Trixie took it. ‘May I open it?’ she asked.

‘You may,’ Lady Penselwood replied. Trixie put her hand inside and pulled out a lavender bag. It was worn, like a much-beloved child’s toy. On the front was a large, embroidered bee.

Chapter 26

Trixie and Jasper wandered around the churchyard, searching the gravestones for the name Arthur Henry Hamblin. A brisk wind tossed brown and yellow leaves across the grass, sweeping them up against the headstones and the bright flowers recently left in remembrance of the deceased. Trixie didn’t like to think too much about the bodies lying beneath the ground. She preferred the more spiritual idea of souls released from their earthly bodies to wander at peace. She recalled the feeling of having been directed to her mother’s garden shed by an invisible but perceptible presence, and wondered now in the clear light of day whether she had simply imagined it. Was it possible to cheat death and live on, or were human beings conditioned to believe because the alternative was simply too horrible to contemplate?

She shivered in the cold and thrust her hands into her coat pockets. Jasper was walking up and down the rows of graves, reading out the very old ones whose engraved letters had worn away over time. ‘This one was born in 1556,’ he said. ‘Incredible.’

‘Where are your relations buried?’

‘There’s a family crypt beneath the church.’

‘Spooky,’ she said with another shiver.

‘I can’t say I go down there very often.’

‘Is there a space for you?’

‘I suppose there is, but I don’t really want to think about it.’

‘Apparently your grandmother is planning her funeral,’ she said.

‘I know. She’s loving it. It’s keeping her very busy and entertained, and irritating my mother, of course, which I suppose is her main objective.’

‘Ah, here it is,’ Trixie announced, crouching down to read the headstone. ‘Arthur Henry Hamblin. 1889–1938. He was only forty-eight when he died. That’s so young,’ she said, wiping away the long grass so that she could read more. ‘“In memory of a loving father and dear friend. May he rest in peace in God’s keeping.”’

‘He’s buried next to his wife,’ said Jasper, looking at the headstone beside Arthur’s.

‘Mom never knew her mother. Her father was all she had. It must have been a terrible loss when he died. She was left on her own.’ Trixie did a quick calculation. ‘You know, she was only eighteen or nineteen. She married Dad at that age. Thank goodness she had him.’ She wondered whether Grace had married him because she was afraid of being on her own again. That was just before the war. Just before her letters to Rufus. Her affair began around that time, too.

‘I’ve been thinking, Trixie. Dad was a grumpy sod. He worked much too hard, spent hours outside on the estate and in the gardens on his own, as if he wanted to lose himself. He was embittered, his humour sarcastic, caustic even, when he was in company. He could be cruel and intolerant. He was quick to anger, and as children we were afraid of him. I ask myself whether ending the affair with Grace killed something inside him that could never be revived. Grandma says he was a carefree and witty young man. The person she describes is nothing like the father I knew.’ He looked at her and frowned. ‘Am I just like him? Have I become a grumpy, intolerant man because I, too, lost the woman I love? Am I simply repeating the pattern? Lottie complains that I’m scathing and unbearable, but I wasn’t always like that. Has my nature been altered by disappointment?’ He searched Trixie’s face for the answer, but she said nothing. She just looked at him with compassion, her eyes sad and enquiring. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said.