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Chapter Nineteen

As soon as the seance is over, everyone makes their way into the hall to depart.

Didi is obsessing about the strange warning and says she doesn’t feel like dining with Mrs Oelrichs now.

‘How can I possibly dine when I fear every stair I encounter?’ I’ve told her numerous times that the warning was not for her, but she won’t listen; she thinks everything is about her.

‘If only William was here. But I’m alone. All alone.’

Her son tells her patiently that she is never alone, but I can tell he is weary of servicing such a demanding mother.

Cavill and Lester jump in to reassure her, and she soaks up their attention like a hydrangea soaks up water.

Didi Aldershoff is a woman accustomed to male attention and is an expert at milking it.

I realise that she has a suite of rooms here but has been spending her time at their ‘cottage’ in Newport.

She doesn’t thank me for the seance, even though her wish was granted and her husband came through and communicated with her.

Her displeasure has sucked the energy out of the room, as I knew it would when she decided not to be charming.

I think she blames me for the warning about the stair.

She calls for a footman to escort her up to her rooms. He comes at once and offers her his hand.

She takes it and grips it tightly. ‘I’m not going up or down these without being attended,’ she declares, holding tightly to the balustrade with the other hand.

‘Beware the stair,’ she says with a sniff, giving me a stern look that reminds me, in a flash, of Alma. ‘Well, I’m very aware.’

Mrs Gilsden is grateful to have had a communication from her father. She’s reassured now that her son is safe and well, and lives on in Spirit. I reiterate the fact that those we love never leave us, and she embraces me firmly. ‘You are so right, Miss Fleet. How can I ever thank you?’

‘Your happiness is thanks enough,’ I reply, and watch her depart with Josephine and Emma, who have just said their farewells to Walter-Wyatt, Alice and Esme, who are standing by the door.

The last guest to leave is Cavill. He takes my hand and looks at me with an intensity I haven’t seen since St Sidwell. ‘Walk with me tomorrow?’ he asks, lowering his voice. ‘There is something I want to tell you.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘In the park. At the grand staircase. Midday?’ He runs his eyes over my face, lingering a moment on my lips.

I nod. He smiles, pleased. There is no reticence now, no hesitation, just an acceptance perhaps of the heart’s enigmatic longings.

‘Until then.’ He lets go of my hand and Henderson gives him his coat and hat.

He trots lightly down the steps as he did that first time I met him at St Sidwell.

I watch him climb into the front of the car, where Mrs Gilsden, Emma and Josephine are waiting for him on the back seat.

The driver walks round to the bonnet and cranks the engine to start it.

We take it for granted that in our time one can simply turn a key.

In fact, many cars don’t even require a key, but a button, and bingo! Wouldn’t Cavill be astonished by that!

I turn around and walk back inside, and Henderson closes the door behind me.

Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.

That night, Lester and I are included in a dinner party with people called the Havemeyers, and then at a ball at the de Groots’, but as I have nothing elegant to wear – my dresses will be delivered tomorrow – I decide to stay behind.

Alice approves; she does not want me letting the side down by wearing something unsuitable.

Lester and I wait in the drawing room for the family to come downstairs.

Music is resounding from the gramophone once again.

The same man with the high voice singing a song about his heart being like a garden.

I’m sitting on the sofa. Lester’s standing by the fireplace.

He has borrowed clothes from Walter-Wyatt again.

He looks conventionally elegant with his stiff white collar and bow tie, and diamond studs glinting on his white waistcoat.

He offers me a cigarette. ‘Are you still not smoking?’

‘I’m not,’ I reply.

He narrows his eyes, appraising me curiously.

‘Who is this singer?’ I ask.

He frowns. ‘Enrico Caruso.’ He stares at me in amazement, as if I’ve morphed into someone he doesn’t recognise, which, I suppose, I have.

‘I can’t make you out, Aunt Constance. You’ve been acting very oddly ever since we boarded the Titanic .

Really, you’re not yourself at all. What’s come over you? ’

‘I don’t know what you mean?’ I’m obviously not winning any Oscars for my performance as Constance.

‘You’re dull.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry to be so blunt, but you’ve lost your spunk.’

Now that’s a word!

‘I haven’t been feeling myself.’ I fold my arms defensively. ‘I didn’t like that ship and I didn’t like its sinking. I’m sure in a few days, I will be myself again.’ Surely, the time is approaching for me to leave Constance.

He strikes a match and lights his cigarette.

Then he glances at the door and lowers his voice.

‘I have told Glover that when we return to London, I will find him another post.’ He drops his eyes to the carpet and I can see his jaw tense.

It must have cost him dearly to dismiss him.

He drags on his cigarette and then exhales loudly. ‘He hasn’t taken it very well.’

‘Maybe you should have waited until you were home before you told him,’ I say reproachfully.

‘We had a row. He forced my hand.’

Now I know why Glover is out of sorts downstairs. ‘You’ve made things hard for yourself, Lester. You now have an unhappy valet. Might he not become vengeful?’

He takes another puff and shakes his head. ‘You’re so melodramatic.’ But I can tell he’s nervous. ‘You don’t know him like I do.’

‘I just know people.’

‘You know dead people,’ he retorts with a chuckle. ‘You know, you were remarkable today. Really, I was impressed. There’s something in it, to be sure.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t try to undermine me.’

‘Oh, ye of little faith. Come, come, Aunt Constance, why would I want to do that? Esme was impressed too.’

‘She’s a lovely girl.’

‘You don’t need to tell me how lovely she is. I’m marrying her, aren’t I?’

‘I can’t make you out. One moment you love Glover and the next you’re making a full commitment to Esme.’

He flicks ash into the little round dish placed on the mantlepiece beside him and looks wistful for a moment. ‘I’ve had to choose between love and money, Constance. It’s as simple as that. And I’ve chosen money.’

‘How very sentimental of you.’

‘Indeed.’ He grins, but there’s a bitter twist on his lips. ‘There was really no contest. Mama would never forgive me if I came home without the bacon!’

Walter-Wyatt has returned from his club and has dressed for dinner. He appears in the drawing room with his cane, as elegant as Lester. ‘I hear you’re not joining us, Constance,’ he says.

‘I’m afraid I have nothing suitable to wear.’

‘That’s a shame. I was hoping to show you off.

But Lester can tell his account of the Titanic , can’t you, Lester?

After all, your adventure was one of survival, while yours, Constance, if I may say so, was one of rescue.

It’s one thing floating about in a lifeboat, but quite another surviving the freezing cold water and clambering aboard an upturned boat. Everyone will want to hear about it.’

‘And I will happily retell it,’ says Lester.

I smile to myself. I suspect Lester’s account of his adventure is becoming increasingly heroic.

Alice glides down the stairs in a pale-pink gown.

She glitters with jewels and radiates opulence.

In her wake, Esme looks young and graceful in white.

I’m glad I’m not going with them for I’d look like a goose beside swans.

No one tries to persuade me to come. ‘Your dresses will arrive tomorrow, Constance, and then you will be the belle of all the balls,’ Alice exclaims as she sashays out of the house.

Esme walks out on the arm of her fiancé, who has complimented her on her beauty.

They make a handsome couple. With doe eyes she gazes adoringly up at him.

I watch them leave the house and a sentence springs to mind: ignorance is bliss .

In this case it will only lead to heartbreak and divorce down the line.

I feel sorry for Esme for marrying a man who would rather be with another man, and I feel sorry for Lester, too, who has to hide who he really is.

How perfectly beautiful it looks on the outside, but how tragic it is inside.

I’m thrilled to be left alone. I couldn’t face going to parties and having to perform when I’m pining for Cavill and anticipating having to leave him again.

My mind is busy trying to work out what he could possibly want to talk to me about and I want some quiet time to process the possibilities.

I need to be ready in case he throws me a fast ball.

I climb the stairs. Everywhere there are servants. I can’t imagine living like this, being watched all the time. But people like Walter-Wyatt and Alice are used to it and barely notice the people whose job it is to make their lives comfortable. And they rarely thank them.

The door to Lester’s bedroom is wide open and Glover is in there drawing the curtains. ‘Good evening, Glover,’ I say, hovering in the corridor.

He spins around as if I’ve caught him doing something underhand.

His eyes are wild with guilt. ‘Is everything all right?’ I ask him, wondering at his reaction.

There’s nothing dishonest about him tidying his master’s bedroom.

But it would have been prudent for Lester to wait until they were back in England to dismiss him.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replies stiffly, not meeting my eye.