Page 24 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)
K atherine could scarcely believe it. Her brother Harold, thought to be dead ten years ago, was alive and well, and had come to find her.
“But… but where have you been all this time? Ten years, Harold! Ten years since we thought you died in the Battle of Cape St Vincent! What happened to you?”
His face clouded. “Oh… I am not entirely sure. A small coastal village somewhere hot… France, somewhere in France… that’s all I can tell you. Must have had a bang on the head, for I had not the least idea who I was or where I was or anything, but one day a naval vessel anchored offshore and a party came ashore and someone recognised me. Brought me back to England, helped me remember bits and pieces, and as soon as I began to remember things, I remembered you, sister dear, and so here I am.”
“Have you been to Branton?”
“No, I came straight here.”
“Do you know that Mama and Papa are both dead? Mama seven years ago, and Papa just last year, before Christmas.”
“I heard, yes. You’re all alone in the world now, Katherine. Well, apart from me, that is. You and me against the world, eh? Just like it always was.”
For an hour they talked, or at least Harold talked, while the Athertons plied him with questions. Katherine herself was too bemused to formulate any rational thoughts in her head. Harold alive! It was extraordinary! How was it possible? And yet, his explanation, sparse as it was, made sense.
He had now left His Majesty’s navy, he told them, being unfit for the work any more, but he had received his full amount of back pay and even a modest bounty, so he was, in his own words, comfortably situated. He hoped to set up home with Katherine, perhaps in York.
That provoked a response from her. “Not in Branton?”
“I should find it confusing when I remember so little of my time there — mere flashes of memory, that is all.”
“It might help your memory to return fully to be in the familiar places again,” she said.
“But imagine how humiliating it would be to meet people who remember me well, and be unable to name them or respond sensibly. No, better to start afresh, I feel, where I am not at all known, and can make new memories.”
After an hour, Mrs Atherton deemed that Katherine needed to rest, to recover from the shock of meeting Harold again, and at once he rose.
“A thousand apologies, madam. I have been thoughtless in staying so long.”
Uncle Cathcart offered Harold a room at Cathcart House, and Mrs Atherton invited him to dine at Westwick Heights that evening, after which he gracefully withdrew, taking Uncle Cathcart with him. Katherine had a few hours to contemplate Harold’s reappearance. The matter was too exciting for a return to normal activities, so the books were abandoned, and the family gathered in the parlour to discuss it.
“When did you last see him?” was the first question.
“Let me see… I was six, so fourteen years ago. It was a very brief leave before he had to rejoin his ship. The last time he lived at home, I was only four.”
“That is why you do not recognise him,” Bertram said, “but Katherine, can you be sure he truly is your brother? Anyone could just appear and say he is Harold Parish. One hears such tales all too often, of unscrupulous men who prey on unprotected women.”
“But I am not unprotected,” Katherine said. “My uncle and aunt will look into it. I dare say one might write to the Admiralty to ask for more information. Besides, who would prey on me? I am not an heiress, likely to attract a fortune hunter. No, he must be genuine.”
“Does he look like your brother?” Bertram said.
“He does. The fair hair, the blue eyes… that is certainly how I remember him. And he is the right height, I think. He is more weather-beaten than I remembered, but that is not unexpected after he has been living in a fishing village for so many years.”
“And what about the accent?” Bertram said. “He does not talk in as refined a manner as you do.”
Katherine frowned. “I cannot remember how he used to talk. My father had an accent, too, but my mother insisted I talk properly, as she called it.”
“Bertram,” his father said, “you spend so much time reading about the Romans, it is possible that the devious ploys of the Caesars have altered your vision of the world. Sometimes a young man seemingly returned from the dead is just what he appears to be. He may have an accent, but it is mild, and he dresses well, he mentioned a valet and he arrived in a hired post-chaise and four. He is not, I believe, intending to prey on Miss Parish.”
“That is all very true,” Bertram said with a rueful grimace. “I am too suspicious, perhaps. It is difficult to believe, but sometimes miracles do occur.”
“Indeed. So let us be thankful for this particular miracle and not put distrustful thoughts into Miss Parish’s head.”
For several days, Katherine and Harold got to know each other again. She moved back to Cathcart House, where she found Aveline already employing her charms on him. Katherine was pleased to see that he appeared impervious. The rest of the family accepted him unreservedly, with none of Bertram’s suspicions.
Katherine herself wondered about him. He had few memories of childhood, although if she reminded him of an incident, he would sometimes say, “I think I remember that.” Nor did he recall much of his time at sea. His time as a virtual prisoner in a French fishing village he refused to talk about, saying only that it was a bad time and he disliked to be reminded of it.
There were two incidents, however, which convinced her that he was indeed her brother. Once she had spent an hour or so attempting to prod his memory of Branton, but without success. Giving it up, they had turned instead to the newspaper, reading over a piece about the Navy which she felt would interest him, when he cried out, “A balloon! One of those great contraptions that fills with air — I remember that!”
“A balloon? Oh yes, I did not see it. I was too little, but Papa took you to see it filled.”
“It rose a few feet off the ground, that was all. But it was such an impressive sight to a small boy. I must have been six or seven at the time.”
A day or so later, at dinner, he turned to Katherine with a puzzled expression. “Was there a fire? I have a vague memory of a fire in a large building.”
“The mill, yes! Papa’s first cotton mill, which burnt to the ground. You were a hero, Harold, for you saw the smoke and raised the alarm. Not that much could be done, for a building full of cotton burns all too well, but at least no one was hurt, except old Sam, the night watchman, who fell down the stairs and broke an arm in his haste to escape.”
After that, all Katherine’s doubts were swept away, and if his memories of Branton were sparse, at least they were real.
On any other subject, he was articulate. He spoke of his time in London, being physicked by naval doctors until they decided he was beyond any further aid and discharged him. Several friends there had known him before his disappearance, and they had told him of his parents’ deaths, and that Katherine had gone to their uncle and aunt. He had stayed there until he felt well enough to tackle the journey north.
When he spoke of their future together, he became quite eloquent. A small house in York, he thought, with three or four servants. A town would provide competent physicians to monitor his continuing recovery, as well as amusements for both of them.
“We can go to the assembly room, sister dear, and find a husband worthy of you,” he said merrily.
He was keen to leave almost immediately, but Katherine hesitated. At the back of her mind was the thought that if she went to York now, she would never see Kent again, and so she resisted. But her aunt soon made it clear that she expected her to go.
“Your uncle and I accepted responsibility for you in the spring because we thought you had no one else, dear,” she said to Katherine, coming to her room at the end of the evening to talk to her privately. “We were glad to do it, and I always hoped that we would succeed in getting you satisfactorily settled. We made no distinction between you and our own girls in that regard. But now that your brother is here to take care of you… well, we must step aside, naturally. Your brother is the proper guardian for you. Little as we like to see you go, it is for Harold to make a home for you and make provision for your future. The world would look very much askance at us if we were to come between the two of you.”
“I understand, aunt,” Katherine said sadly.
“You are a good girl, and deserve better than all this jumping about from place to place. I am so sorry to lose you again, I cannot tell you! However, you are such an amiable soul, you will make new friends very quickly, just as you did here and at Helmsley. And at York, you know… well, in the much wider society there, and with your brother’s wealth, you will be bound to make an excellent match. We would have taken you there ourselves in the spring with Aveline. Now we shall be able to visit you in your new home.”
So Katherine made no protest. To York, it seemed, she was to go.
***
K ent found himself effortlessly drawn into Branton’s society. Mrs Vance knew everyone of importance in the town and designated her five sons-in-law to take care of Kent and ensure he was kept well entertained. Thus he found his days filled with visits to mills and manufactories and warehouses, and he never once dined at the inn. All that was required of him in return was that he mention from time to time his father the earl, or his cousin the duke, or his two brothers-in-law, both viscounts. Brantonians were not unduly deferential, but they had an insatiable curiosity about the nobles in their castles, who helped the King to rule their land. They never expected to meet any of them, but Kent was an excellent substitute and they were determined to make the most of him.
He rapidly developed an admiration for these sturdy men of industry and commerce, who might never have ventured beyond the bounds of Lancashire, but they read the newspapers, and talked in their offices and parlours and clubs of everything that happened, and they were not afraid to give their opinions with spirit. Kent had deeper discussions in Branton dining rooms than he had ever encountered at Corland, for his family was not politically active. If Kent had ever had a full season in town, it might have been different, but he felt he had found a society in Branton that was alive in a way that he had never seen before.
It helped, of course, that he could talk to these men about machinery, and their eyes did not glaze over as his father’s would have done, or his brothers’. For them, it was all horses or guns or the possibilities for the harvest. It was a joy to Kent to talk instead about coal and valves and canals and the price of wool or cotton. At least, the Brantonians talked, and he listened and asked endless questions and learnt vast amounts, while realising just how ignorant he was.
His greatest delight was in finally seeing the beam engines that had fired his imagination for so long. Mr Ridwell, the new owner of the Parish mill at Longfarley, showed him around personally, and then handed him over to the engineer who explained the workings of the engine. And Kent stood, mesmerised, watching it at work, the beam far above his head rising and falling, the massive wheels spinning, the valves opening and closing, and all accompanied by whirrings and clangings and whooshes of steam, so loud that he could barely hear himself think. Beneath his feet, the very ground shook, and he could feel the vibrations deep in his chest, as if its power was so great that it infiltrated everything within range.
For an hour or more he stood, awestruck, and felt that he had come home. This, this place of wonder and energy and majesty, was where his destiny lay.
“Have you any work suitable for a useless ignoramus like me at Longfarley?” he asked Ridwell, when he could finally be torn away from the great engine. “My paltry skills with broken fountains and clocks are inadequate to equip me to tend the noble beast that powers your mill, but perhaps you have some other work I might do? At least then I would be near to the engine.”
Ridwell regarded him thoughtfully. “An earl’s son can always be found a position, Mr Atherton. I could use a general manager. John Wilson is getting on, and he would be happy to retire in two or three years. You would be ready to take over by then. If you stay so long, of course. A hundred pounds a year while you’re learning, if you find your own accommodation.”
“That would suit me very well,” Kent said. “I shall have to talk to my father.”
“Will he refuse to let you do this?”
“I am of age, so he has no power to prevent me. No, I need to find out if he will continue my allowance. If so, I can afford a modest house. If not, I shall live in two rooms above a bakery or some such.”
Ridwell laughed. “Very well. Let me know when you will be free to start.”
Fired with enthusiasm, Kent went straight off to talk to an attorney about somewhere to live. He remembered Mr Gray from the funeral, who had also appeared at some of the dinners to which Kent had been invited, so he started there.
Gray’s offices were rather imposing, situated between a bank and a large bookseller. Kent was ushered politely into a room gleaming with mahogany furniture, the desk adorned with a silver standish.
“Ridwell, eh? Why him?” Gray said, when he heard about the scheme.
“Is there any reason I should not work for him?” Kent said.
“No, no. Ridwell’s perfectly sound, but… well, he keeps to himself as a rule. Has one of the fancy new houses on the hill and has ambitions for that daughter of his. Plans to take her to London and see if he can’t get a lord for her. Mind you, she’s a beauty, no doubt about it, and whoever marries her will get Cragforth mill. Might be worth your while…”
“I will bear that in mind,” Kent said diplomatically. “I wondered if you know of any property I might rent.”
“Furnished or unfurnished?”
“Either would suit me. Nothing too large, but suitable for a family… if I should marry in the future.”
“Ah,” Gray said knowingly. “If you don’t mind unfurnished, I have just the thing on the Lancaster road. Very convenient for church and the better shops, and the market is only a short walk away. In excellent condition, a good size for a family and most elegantly appointed. Mrs Parish always had exquisite taste. The owner died last Christmas… oh, but you know Katy Parish, of course?”
Kent’s throat was unexpectedly tight. “I… do, yes.” He could live in Katherine’s — Katy’s — own house! And if he should marry her— But he did not dare to contemplate such a glorious future.
Mr Gray showed him over the house himself, and although the rooms were empty and sad, he could imagine Katy and her father living there. He identified the bedroom that assuredly had been hers, in his mind he filled a corner of the drawing room with her pianoforte and music cabinet, and he imagined her sitting in the dining room eating the plain dishes that she preferred.
“The bank owns it, but they won’t consider taking less than sixty guineas a year for it, given the size and position of it, and in excellent condition, too, although for such a distinguished gentleman as yourself, I might persuade them down to fifty,” Gray said. “It’s a good family house, as you can see. The Parishes never had but the two children, but there’s room for plenty more.”
That gave Kent the delightful vision of Katy with her children gathered around her. She would be a wonderful mother, he decided. But such thoughts were too enticing. More likely was a future where she never spoke to him again, and she would be entirely justified. He was a despicable worm, not fit to crawl on the ground at her feet. But perhaps, if he applied himself to a career in Branton, he might one day aspire to be a good, honest man, and leave his history as a smuggler behind.
That night at dinner with several of his new friends, he mentioned the possibility that he might rent the Parish house, and that brought forth an outpouring of memories of the family. Mr Parish, a down-to-earth, good-hearted man, who took excellent care of his workers. Mrs Parish, from a grand family to the north, with refined ways but never high in the instep. Harold, the son, a bouncy, fair-haired child with a wonderful singing voice. And Katy, the quiet daughter, with her talent for music, who had stepped into the breach so ably after her mother died.
Such a charming family, but tragedy had gradually overtaken them. Harold first, lost in the Battle of Cape St Vincent off Portugal, although his body had never been recovered. Then Mrs Parish had died, and only the previous year Mr Parish had been lost, and his entire fortune swallowed up by the debts to the bank. The worthies of Branton shook their heads over it, and lamented the loss, but took it as an awful warning to anyone minded to take out a loan.
Kent knew most of it already, but he never minded hearing about Katherine — Katy! So much more apt a name, he thought, and she was rapidly becoming fixed in his mind as Katy now. So he listened, and although there was pain in the constant reminders, it was far outweighed by the pleasure of hearing how well-regarded she had been.
Kent wrote to his father to tell him of his plans and to ask for clarification of his financial position. He made it clear that he would stay in Branton regardless of the outcome, for he had three thousand pounds of his own money to support him until he was properly established, but he yearned to live in Katy’s house, and that could not be done without his allowance from his father.
Before he had a reply from Corland, however, came news of a very different sort. First, a letter from Olivia.
‘My dear brother, Such an exciting development! Miss Parish’s brother, so long missing after a naval battle that all hope was extinguished, has returned alive and well! After ten years! Is that not astonishing? He is very handsome and charming, and has made his fortune, so they are to set up house together in York. Is that not a pleasing outcome for her? The Cathcarts are well pleased to be rid of her, I dare say, for her elegant manners quite cast a shadow over the not quite so elegantly mannered Miss Cathcart, not to mention her divine performance on the pianoforte. We are all thrilled for her, that she will have a proper home at last where she will be valued as she ought to be, and no doubt you will be very willing to run any little errands that may be required in York in the days to come. We are all looking forward to Bertram’s wedding. There is to be a grand ball here two days before, so you must be sure to return in time for that. Your loving sister, Olivia.’
Kent had barely had time to digest that when Mr Gray returned from a visit to his Lancaster office in great distress, bearing a copy of a Lancaster newspaper.
“Look! Look at this!” he cried to the guests gathered for dinner at the home of Reggie Cruikshank, one of the Vance sons-in-law.
“Read it aloud, Gray,” Cruikshank said.
“Very well, very well. ‘Tragic orphan revealed as great heiress’. That is the headline. Can you guess who is meant by that? Listen, listen. ‘Miss Katherine Parish…’ Katy, you see! They are talking about our very own Katy. ‘Miss Katherine Parish, a young lady of only twenty years, has suffered more tragedy than most in so young a life. After losing her only brother and her mother some years ago, she lost her surviving parent, Mr William Parish, a mill owner of Branton, to a fever last year. The unfortunate lady was thought to be destitute and thrown on the mercy of kind-hearted relations. But fortune has smiled upon her at last, for she is now known to be the inheritor of a substantial fortune. Not only is there a trust fund left to her by her mother, the former Miss Elizabeth Hawley of Shillingburn, but she was also bequeathed the sum of ten thousand pounds in the will of the late Mr Harvey Vance, the much lamented former mayor of Branton, who recently passed away. We congratulate Miss Parish on her recent reversal of fortune, there being no more worthy recipient of such benevolence, given the sorrowful history of her family.’ And then they relate the whole of it — all about her childhood, her brother’s loss at sea, her mother’s death and then every detail of the loans being called in. It is despicable, quite despicable!”
“But this is good news, is it not?” someone said. “If Katy has come into a little money, I for one am very pleased for her.”
“And so are we all, naturally,” Gray said, “but no one was supposed to know about it. The will… a will is made public, so I suppose there was no avoiding that, but the trust fund! Parish went to so much trouble to ensure that no one knew of that. Even Katy does not know how much it is worth.”
“How much is it worth?” Cruikshank said.
Gray heaved a sigh. “I cannot tell you. Indeed, that is the absolute truth, for I do not know myself. Mr Humber at the bank is the only person who knows. Parish always said it was not very much, but he made us all swear never to speak of it, which leads me to suspect that it may be substantial. Parish was doing very well for a while, so he could have laid aside quite a decent pile for Katy. Now here it is all over the newspapers and the poor child will be besieged by fortune hunters. Indeed, Tiller has already— Tiller! That must have been how all this got into the newspapers. He is my clerk, for my sins, and a very poor one he is too, but he has access to the files, and must have seen that there was a trust fund in existence. Well, he will not be my clerk for much longer! Revealing confidential information is the greatest sin an attorney can commit. But beyond that, I do not think there is much we can do about it, except to warn Katy’s uncle to be on the watch for fortune hunters.”
“I fear it may already be too late for that,” Kent said, and told them of the contents of Olivia’s letter. “He has been gone so long, and Miss Parish was so young when he left that she would not remember him. This man could well be an impostor.”
“He sounds like a wealthy man,” Gray said. “Some of these naval men have done very well from prize money and so forth.”
“That may be so,” Kent said, “but the newspaper gives full details of the Parish family, including descriptions. It would not be hard for a man to make a pretence.”
“A suitor would be a concern,” Cruikshank said, “but a brother, even an impostor, cannot hurt her.”
“He could claim his share of the trust fund,” Gray said gloomily. “The terms of the marriage settlement intended Mrs Parish’s money to be divided amongst all the children. Besides, as her only male relative, he could take control of the entire amount, her share as well as his.”
Kent nodded. “This man may be just as he appears to be, but I believe I shall not be satisfied until I have talked to Cathcart about this and met the man for myself.”