Читать книгу Act of Will - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 10

Audra’s father was a shadowy figure in her mind.

He had died in 1909, when she was only two years old, and her memories of him were smudged and indistinct.

But the images of her mother, and of Frederick and William, were potent and fresh, so very vivid to her the three of them might have been standing there, looking down at her lying on the grass. And Uncle Peter was as indelibly imprinted on her heart as the other three were.

How inexorably their lives and their destinies had been bound up with his.

Peter Lacey had died in 1920 whilst still a young man. He had been an officer in the British Army during the Great War, and had fought in the trenches of France, where he had been badly gassed in the Battle of the Somme. His lungs had been so seriously damaged his health had never been the same, and that was why he had died. Or so they said at the time.

Audra’s mother, the Beautiful Edith Kenton, had been inconsolable. She had followed him to the grave less than a year later, in July of 1921. She had been thirty-seven.

Frederick, Audra’s eldest brother, had told her that their mother’s death was due to heart failure, but she had recently substituted heartbreak for the latter. Audra had come to believe that their mother really had died of a broken heart as she had pined away for Peter Lacey; since Audra had grown to young womanhood she had come to understand their relationship so much better. They had been lovers, of course. There was no longer any doubt in her mind about that.

As a child Audra had never questioned his presence. He was their Uncle Peter, a distant relative of their father’s, a third cousin, she had been led to believe, and he had been there for as long as she could remember.

After Adrian Kenton had died of consumption, Uncle Peter had become an even more frequent visitor, staying with them at High Cleugh for a week or two at a time. Because of his business interests and financial affairs he had returned to London at regular intervals, but he was never absent for very long. And whether he came for an extended visit or a brief few days he never came empty handed. There were usually presents for them all.

‘Isn’t it wonderful the way Uncle Peter looks after us,’ her mother had said once to Audra. ‘I am a great burden to him, I fear. He is such a busy man…but very kind and generous, and most uncommonly thoughtful. He wishes to take care of me, and of you and your brothers. He insists, and will not have it any other way.’ Edith had sighed, then smiled her shimmering smile. ‘He was devoted to your father, of course. That is the reason why he has made us his responsibility, Audra.’

But it was not devotion to their father at all, Audra had come to realize. It had been adoration of their mother that had caused Peter Lacey to become their benefactor and protector.

Once she had come to understand the reality of their life together, Audra had accepted the truth about them, and she had never blamed or censored her mother and her uncle in her heart. They had been very much in love. He had also loved Edith’s fatherless children, and behaved as a father would towards them; he had taken care of the Kenton family to the best of his ability and his financial means. There had been a wife somewhere in the background, and two children, a boy and a girl, otherwise Edith Kenton and Peter Lacey would have married.

Audra and William had not understood the situation when Edith and Peter were alive, but Audra had lately come to wonder if Frederick had ever had his suspicions. After all, he was the eldest. He had been seventeen when Edith had died, and William fifteen, and Audra had just celebrated her fourteenth birthday the month before.

The Kenton children had been stunned and heartbroken at the unexpected death of their mother, disbelieving. It had been so sudden. And then, only a short hour after her coffin had been lowered into the ground, they had suffered another terrible blow.

They were dazed, so shocked they were unable to speak, when they learned that Edith had died penniless, and that they were not only destitute but without a roof over their heads. High Cleugh was not their property as they had always believed. It had never belonged to their father, in fact. He had merely rented it from the owner – Peter Lacey. Peter had permitted Edith to live on at High Cleugh, without paying rent, since 1909.

Apparently a codicil in his will had protected Edith after his death – but not them. High Cleugh was to remain her home for as long as she lived; after her death it must revert to his estate. The annuity he had left her also ceased when she died.

There was no separate provision for them, most probably because Peter Lacey had not anticipated that their mother would die at such an early age. Obviously neither had she, despite her great sorrow at his passing, since she had not left a will.

The three orphans were told all this by their mother’s cousin, Alicia Drummond. She had taken them back to her house, The Grange, after the funeral service at St Nicholas’s Church and the burial in the adjoining cemetery in the village of West Tanfield. She had hurried them into the library, a cheerless room filled with gloomy shadows, dolorous paintings and ponderous Victorian furniture, where tea was to be served later. Aunt Alicia’s husband, Uncle Percival, her daughter, Cousin Winifred, and her mother, Great-Aunt Frances Reynolds, had attended the funeral and had joined them for tea afterwards.

Although the Kenton children disliked the Drummonds intensely, they held a certain affection for their great-aunt, who had always shown a particular fondness for Edith, her only niece, and the Kentons. And so they automatically gravitated to the Chesterfield sofa next to her chair. Here they aligned themselves in a row. They were a staunch little trio, wearing their best Sunday clothes and black armbands of mourning, sitting stiff-backed and controlled. Somehow they managed to hide their sorrow behind expressionless faces, and, amazingly, not one of them showed their nervousness.

Aunt Alicia had poured tea from a Georgian silver pot, and the maid had passed around the delicate china cups, then offered them plates of watercress sandwiches and carraway-seed cake. They were not able to eat a thing.

Audra was the first one to speak up, after Aunt Alicia had delivered her devastating news about their impecunious state. ‘What’s going to happen to us? Are we to be sent to the workhouse?’ she asked in a small but curiously steady voice, fixing Alicia Drummond with a penetrating stare.

Great-Aunt Frances, shocked, exclaimed, ‘Of course not, dear child!’ and then she reached out and patted Audra’s hand. She was a much nicer person than her daughter, and she continued in a kindly tone, ‘I’m too old to take you in, I’m afraid. However, you will all come and live here at The Grange. Your Aunt Alicia and Uncle Percival have very generously offered to provide a good home for the three of you.’

The Kenton children, with no other living relatives, had been obliged to accept this offer, dubious though they were about moving in with the Drummonds. After only a few days at The Grange they realized just how much they were going to detest living there.

The large Victorian mansion, situated between West Tanfield and Ripon, was as cold and as forbidding as Alicia Drummond herself, who was also a snobbish, bigoted, avaricious and crafty woman. The house was run on ludicrous timetables; the rules were rigid; the atmosphere was depressing and unpleasant; the food mediocre at best. The Kenton children had been brought up with a great deal of love, understanding and freedom by a woman who was also an excellent cook, and they were shocked by life at The Grange.

A week after Edith Kenton’s funeral, some of her furniture and other possessions from High Cleugh were sold at the auction rooms in Ripon, to pay for her funeral expenses and settle her debts. At least, this is what her children were told by their aunt. The best pieces of furniture, a number of good paintings, and choice items of silver were removed to The Grange by Alicia Drummond. ‘I shall be happy to store these things for you until you are old enough to have them,’ she had explained to the three young Kentons.

Despite the fact that this sounded reasonable enough to Frederick and William, Audra, who was far brighter than her brothers, did not trust the woman. And her distrust only increased when, several days later, she noticed her mother’s things appearing in various rooms of her aunt’s house. And so that night, when everyone was asleep, she had crept down the corridor to the room which Frederick and William shared. She had awakened her brothers, and, curling up at the bottom of Frederick’s bed, she expressed her concern to them both, whispered that they must make an inventory of all of their mother’s possessions which were now in this house.

William, who knew Audra was much cleverer than he or his brother, nodded in agreement. But Frederick blanched in alarm, afraid that they would be thrown out if they so much as put one foot wrong. ‘She’ll take offence,’ he whispered back, frowning. ‘We can’t do it, Audra. It would be throwing aspersions on her character – as if we think she’s dishonest.’

Sweeping aside his protestations, Audra hissed, ‘I’m sure she is, so we must do it. To protect ourselves. And what about Mother’s jewellery? The sapphires in particular? Does she have those too, Frederick?’

Frederick shook his head vehemently. ‘No, she doesn’t, and that I know for an absolute fact. But they have disappeared. I looked everywhere for them the day after Mother died, and to no avail. When I was searching her drawers I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t seen her wear them since Uncle Peter’s death. She must have sold them, Audra, and used the money to help support us over the past year. It’s the only possible solution.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about the sapphires before now?’ Audra demanded in a low but fierce voice, throwing him a reproachful look.

‘Because I didn’t want to worry you,’ Frederick hissed back, and then. his voice sank as he added, ‘But Aunt Alicia does have Mother’s other jewellery. She took the box away from me…for safekeeping, she said.’

Although she had faithfully promised Frederick she would not do anything rash, and so risk incurring their aunt’s disfavour, Audra was determined, nevertheless, to have her own way about the inventory. Alicia Drummond did not intimidate her, but after thinking it through she wisely decided to bide her time, to wait for the right moment to introduce the subject to her aunt. This had presented itself much sooner than Audra had anticipated.

At the end of that same week, on Sunday, Great-Aunt Frances returned with them for lunch after church services. And it was the old lady herself who inadvertently gave Audra the perfect opportunity. They were all seated in the dark and depressing library, where Uncle Percival proceeded to pour careful glasses of sherry for the adults, when unexpectedly their great-aunt brought up the matter of Edith Kenton’s jewellery.

Out of the blue, she said, ‘I think Audra is old enough to have something of dear Edith’s, a memento of her mother. Perhaps the cameo brooch. Please be kind enough to fetch me Edith’s jewellery box, Alicia.’ Aunt Alicia, tight-lipped and sheathing her annoyance, did so.

Smiling at Audra warmly, the old lady took out the cameo and pinned it on the front of her summer frock. ‘Take care of it, child, it was a favourite of your mother’s,’ she said.

Audra promised that she would, and thanked her great-aunt for allowing her to have it now. Then she shrewdly seized the moment. ‘Frederick, William, come and look at Mother’s jewellery. You must have your share of it when we grow up.’

As her two brothers joined her at their great-aunt’s side, Audra exclaimed to Frederick, ‘Perhaps I ought to make a list of these things, so that we can talk about them later, and decide what we’d each like to have. That’s only fair, isn’t it, Frederick?’

There was a startled silence.

Frederick gaped at her, aghast, and bit his lip worriedly, knowing full well what she next had in mind. William tried to hide his delight in her audacity without succeeding; his eyes danced mischievously.

And then, before anyone could make a comment, Audra ran to the desk, found a pencil and scrap paper, and returned to her great-aunt’s chair, where she pored over the box. At one moment, as she scribbled away, Audra looked up at the silver-haired old lady, and remarked in an off-hand manner, ‘Great-Aunt Frances, do you think I should also list Mother’s furniture and her possessions which Aunt Alicia is storing for us here? You know, so that my brothers and I can divide everything else properly.’

Great-Aunt Frances gave her a surprised look and then she smiled slightly. ‘Well, Audra, you are a practical child, it seems. I think that’s an excellent idea, especially since poor dear Edith did not think to make a will. This way the three of you can discuss the division of your mother’s property at leisure, and make your decisions. Why don’t you take an inventory next week, my dear.’

Audra nodded solemnly, camouflaging her triumph behind a bland expression. ‘Yes, I think I will, Great-Aunt. ’

In the days which followed this conversation, Frederick, quaking in his boots, had warned Audra that there were bound to be repercussions. He had noticed the calculating look in Aunt Alicia Drummond’s mean little black eyes when they had all been in the library, even if his brother and sister had not.

But nothing untoward had happened in the end, and the long, hot summer had slithered into a cool autumn; then winter had come finally, and life at The Grange had continued uneventfully. And as miserable as the Kentons were in the cold and unloving environment of their aunt’s home, even Audra felt bound to agree with William, her favourite, that they were fortunate in one respect: the three of them were together, they had each other to love, and for companionship and consolation.

It was the week before Christmas when Audra chanced to hear a strange remark, one that worried her briefly; its true meaning was to baffle her for some time thereafter.

Late one afternoon, knowing that Great-Aunt Frances had come to visit, Audra went looking for her.

She was about to push open the drawing-room door, which was already ajar, when she heard Aunt Alicia mention her mother’s name in the most scathing manner. She did not catch what her aunt said next because Alicia lowered her voice. But Audra stiffened as Great-Aunt Frances suddenly exclaimed in a horrified tone, ‘You cannot punish the children for the sins of the mother, Alicia!’

Instantly, Audra’s hand dropped from the knob and she quickly backed away, not wishing to hear any more, and knowing that it was wrong to eavesdrop anyway.

She crept down the dark passage to the back parlour, where she sat for a while, pondering her great-aunt’s odd remark. Audra knew that it had to do with them – that much was patently obvious. But she could not fathom its meaning. How had her mother sinned? At once she told herself that her mother had not committed a single sin in her entire life. As young as she was, Audra was perceptive and she had long known that Alicia Drummond had always been jealous of her mother’s classical beauty, her charm and her refinement. So much so, she had never lost a chance to demean Edith Kenton during her lifetime. Seemingly she could not resist doing the same thing after her death.

For the next few days Audra continued to wonder why Alicia wanted to punish them, but eventually she managed to curb her worry. She consoled herself with the knowledge that whatever punishment she had had in mind for them, their great-aunt had obviously found a way to put a stop to it.

But as it turned out, Frances Reynolds’s words had apparently meant little or nothing. Certainly they had not been a deterrent to her daughter.

For in the end they had been punished.

Two months later, in February of 1922, Frederick and William were dispatched to Australia as emigrants, and Audra was sent to work at the Fever Hospital for Children in Ripon.

Their fierce protestations and anguished pleadings to stay together had made no impression. They were helpless in the face of their aunt’s determination. And so, against their wishes, and those of their Great-Aunt Frances, they had been forced to do as Alicia Drummond said.

It was a wrenching moment for the three young Kentons when Frederick and William took leave of their sister on that bitter winter morning. Before setting out for London and the boat to Sydney, they had huddled together in the front hall, saying their goodbyes, fighting back their tears.

Audra clung to William. Emotion welled up in her, and her throat was so tight she could barely speak. Finally she managed, ‘You won’t forget about me, will you, William?’ And then she started to sob brokenly and her eyes streamed.

Swallowing his own tears, trying to be brave, William tightened his arms around his adored little sister. She looked so young and vulnerable at this moment. ‘No, I won’t. We won’t,’ he said reassuringly. ‘And we’ll send for you as soon as we can. I promise, Audra.’

Frederick, equally emotional, stroked the top of Audra’s head lovingly, and reiterated this promise. Then her brothers stepped away from her, picked up their suitcases and left the house without uttering another word.

Audra snatched her coat from the hall cupboard and ran out. She flew down the drive, calling their names, needing to prolong these last few minutes with them. They stopped, turned, waited for her, and the three of them linked arms and walked on in silence, too heartbroken to speak. When they arrived at the gates the two boys silently kissed Audra for the last time, and tore themselves from her clinging arms before they lost control completely.

Holding one hand to her trembling mouth, stifling her sobs, Audra watched them stride courageously along the main road to Ripon until they were just small specks in the distance. She wanted to run after them, to shout, ‘Wait for me! Don’t leave me behind! Take me with you!’ But Audra knew this would be useless. They could not take her with them. It was not her brothers’ fault they were being separated from each other. Alicia Drummond was to blame. She wanted to rid herself of Edith Kenton’s children and she did not care how she did it.

Only when her brothers had finally disappeared from sight did Audra drag her gaze away from the empty road at last. She turned back into the driveway and wondered, with a sinking heart and a sickening feeling of despair, if she would ever see her brothers again. Australia was at the other end of the world, as far away as any place could possibly be. They had promised faithfully to send for her, but how long would it take them to save up the money for her passage? A whole year, perhaps.

As this dismaying thought wedged itself into Audra’s mind she looked up at that bleak, grim house and shivered involuntarily. And at that precise moment her dislike for her mother’s cousin hardened into a terrible and bitter hatred that would remain with her for the rest of her life. Audra Kenton would not ever find it in her heart to forgive Alicia Drummond for her cold and deliberate cruelty to them. And the memory of the day her brothers had been sent away would stay with Audra always.

The following afternoon, white-faced and trembling, and fretting for her brothers, Audra had gone to live and work at the Fever Hospital. Since there were no vacancies that year for student nurses she had been taken on as a ward maid.

Audra Kenton’s life of drudgery had begun. She was still only fourteen years old.

She had been awakened at dawn the next morning. After a breakfast of porridge, dripping and bread, and tea, eaten with the other little ward maids, the daily routine had commenced. Audra was appalled at the hardship of it, and she, who had never done a domestic chore in her entire life, had found that first day unspeakable. Balking at the tasks assigned to her, she had asked herself despairingly how she would manage. Yet she had not dared complain to her superiors. Being intelligent, and alert, she had understood within the space of a few hours that they were not interested in the likes of her. She was inconsequential in the hierarchy of the hospital, where everyone – doctors and nurses alike – worked extremely hard, and with conscientiousness.

On her second morning she had gritted her teeth and attacked her chores with renewed vigour, and she had learned the best way she could, mainly by observing the other maids at work. At the end of the first month she was as efficient as any of them, and had become expert at scrubbing floors, scouring bathtubs, washing and ironing sheets, making beds, emptying bed pans, cleaning lavatories, disinfecting the surgical ward and sterilizing instruments.

Every night she had fallen into her hard little cot in the maids’ dormitory, so bone tired that she had not noticed her surroundings or the uncomfortable bed. She was usually so exhausted in these first weeks she did not even have the strength to weep. And when she did cry into her pillow it was not for her state of being or for her mean and cheerless life. Audra wept out of longing for her brothers, who were as lost to her now as her mother and Uncle Peter lying in their graves.

There were times, as she scrubbed and polished and toiled in the wards, that Audra worriedly asked herself if she had brought this disastrous state upon her brothers and herself. Guilt trickled through her when she remembered how insistent she had been about taking those inventories of her mother’s possessions. But generally her common sense quickly surfaced and Audra recognized that they would have been punished no matter what. In fact, she had come to believe that Alicia Drummond had callously determined their fate on the very day their-mother had died.

When Audra had been pushed out of The Grange and sent to the hospital, Aunt Alicia had told her that she could visit them every month, on one of her two weekends off, and spend special holidays with them. But Audra had only ever ventured there twice, and then merely to collect the remainder of her clothes and a few other belongings. For as far back as she could remember, she had never felt anything but uncomfortable in that appalling house; she understood she was not welcome.

The second time she went to fetch the last of her things she had had to steel herself to enter The Grange, and she had made a solemn vow to herself. She had sworn she would never set foot in that mausoleum of a place again, not until the day she went back to claim her mother’s property. And so, over those early months of 1922, as she had learned to stand on her own two feet, she had kept herself to herself. She had continued to do her work diligently, and she had stayed out of trouble at the hospital.

If her daily life was dreary, and lacked the normal small pleasures enjoyed by most girls of her age, she nevertheless managed to buoy herself up with dreams of a pleasanter future. Hope was her constant companion. No one could take that away from her. Nor could anyone diminish her faith in her brothers. She was absolutely convinced that they would send for her, that she would be with them in Australia soon. Three months after Frederick and William had left England their letters had started to arrive, and these had continued to come fairly regularly. They were always full of news, good cheer, and promises, and the pages had soon grown tattered from her constant reading of them. Audra treasured her letters; they were her greatest comfort and joy in those days.

The hospital routine had scarcely varied during Audra’s first year. The work was hard, even for the strongest of the girls. Some of them had left because their daily chores had worn them down and inevitably demolished their interest in nursing. Only the truly dedicated remained. Audra, with nowhere else to go, stayed out of sheer necessity.

However, there was also something very special in Audra Kenton, call it stubbornness, that made her stick it out until she could graduate to nurse’s training. Small though she was, she had unusual physical stamina, as well as a mental energy and toughness of mind that were remarkable in one so young. Despite her youth, she possessed inner resources which she was able to draw on for courage and strength. And so she had valiantly continued to scrub and clean and polish endlessly…run up and down endless stairs and along endless wards…forever on her feet or on her knees.

The toil and monotonous grind of her days quite apart, Audra could not complain that she was ill treated in any way, for she was not. Everyone at the hospital was kind to her and the other little ward maids, and if the food was plain, even stodgy at times, at least there was plenty of it. No one ever went hungry. Audra, plodding along and braced by her stoicism, would tell herself that hard work and plain food never killed anybody.

But by the end of the year she was looking to better herself. Her eyes were focused on the day she would take a step forward and start climbing the ladder. She had been sent to work at the hospital against her will, but slowly, as she had mastered her chores, she had had a chance to look up, to observe and absorb. Gradually she had begun to realize that nursing appealed to her.

Audra knew she would have to earn a living, even if she went out to join her brothers in Sydney; she wanted to do so as a nurse. According to William, she would have no trouble finding a position in a hospital. He had written to tell her that there was a shortage of nurses Down Under, and this knowledge had fired her ambition even more.

It was in the spring of 1923, not long after Audra had started her second year at the hospital, that her chance came. Matron retired and a successor was appointed. Her name was Margaret Lennox and she was of a new breed of woman, very modern in her way of thinking, some said even radical. She was well known in the North of England for her passionate espousal of reforms in woman and child welfare, and for her dedication to the advancement of women’s rights in general.

With the announcement of her appointment there was a flurry of excitement and everyone wondered if the daily routine would be affected. It was. For, as was usually the way, a new broom swept clean and a new regime, in this instance the Lennox Regime, was swiftly instituted.

Audra, observing everything with her usual perspicacity, decided that she must waste no time in applying for nurse’s training at once. From what she had heard, Margaret Lennox favoured young and ambitious girls who wanted to get on; apparently she went out of her way to give them her unstinting support and encouragement.

Two weeks after Matron Lennox had taken up her duties, Audra sat down and wrote a letter to her. She thought this was the wisest tactic to use, rather than to approach her personally. Matron Lennox had been in a whirlwind of activity and surrounded by a phalanx of hospital staff since her arrival.

Less than a week after Audra had left the letter in Matron’s office she was summoned for an interview. This was brisk, brief and very much to the point. Ten minutes after she had walked in, Audra Kenton walked out, smiling broadly, her application approved.

With her superior intelligence, her ability to learn quickly, Audra swiftly became one of the best student nurses on the hospital staff, and earned a reputation for being dedicated. She found the new work and her studies challenging; also, she discovered she had a desire to heal, and therefore, a real aptitude for nursing. And the young patients, with whom she had a genuine affinity, became the focus of the love she had bottled up inside her since her brothers had gone away…

Now, remembering all of this, as she lay in the grass on the crest of the slope above the River Ure, Audra thought not of her diplomas and nursing achievements over the past four years, but of Frederick and William.

Her brothers had not sent for her in the end.

They had not been able to save up the money for her passage to Australia. Things had not gone well for the Kenton boys. Frederick had had two serious bouts with pneumonia and seemed to be in a state of physical debilitation a great deal of the time. Apart from the problems with his health, he and William were unskilled and untrained. They had had a hard time scraping a living together.

She sighed and bestirred herself, then sat up, blinking as she opened her eyes and adjusted them to the brightness. Poor Frederick and William had had nothing but bad luck really. Their letters, which arrived less frequently these days, were permeated with defeat. Audra had all but given up hope of going out to join them in Sydney. She continued to fret and to miss them, and she supposed she always would. They were her only family, after all, and she loved them very much.

Her work at the hospital gave her satisfaction, and for this she was grateful, but it was not enough. Her sense of isolation, of not belonging to anyone, or more precisely of not being part of a family, and her dreadful loneliness, all contributed to the aridness of her life. Sometimes she found it unbearable, despite her treasured friendship with the devoted Gwen.

Audra stood up, then cast her gaze to the other side of the river.

The light had changed in the last few hours and High Cleugh now looked as if it had been built from polished bronze stones. It was bathed in a golden glow, appeared to shimmer like a mirage in the distance, and even the gardens had a burnished sheen in the rosy sunset. All of her life thus far, at least the best, the happiest parts of it, and her dearest memories, were bound up with that old house. A rush of feeling swept over Audra and she suddenly knew that she would never cease to yearn for High Cleugh and all the things it represented.