When It Rained at Hembry Castle Chapter 7

The Ways of Hembry Castle

D

aphne sat on the edge of her father’s bed while Henry Horrocks, the peacock of a first footman, packed some of her father’s clothing into two leather satchels. She scanned the emerald-green room, the dark-paneled walls, the heavy curtains, the Turkish rugs, the embroidered cushions on the Hepplewhite chairs. “Do you have to go to London, Papa?”

“I’m afraid I do, my dear. Newspaper business. But never fear. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Can’t I come with you?”

“I think it would best if you stayed at Hembry. Get to know the house better. Discover the side aisles and secret passages. Richard and I used to hide in the hidden staircases when we were children. It drove Nanny wild, I can tell you. And you can get to know your grandmother better, and she you.”

“I feel like I should call her Lady Staton.”

“She does have that air about her. Even I’ve called her my lady once or twice. But the little known truth is that under all that propriety is a woman who cares for her family. I want you to get to know that woman while you’re here, Daphne. We won’t be here much longer, and you may never have the chance again.” Frederick looked through the window at the rolling green expanse that stretched toward the farmlands. “I wish we had come sooner. I wish I had taken my father up on his many invitations to spend our summers here.”

“No one expected Grandpa to die. He was never sick a day in his life until the end.”

“That’s the way of it, isn’t it? We walk about as though everything will always be the same, the people we love will always be there, and we put off the important things for when the time is right. And then, out of the blue, something changes, someone goes away, and then we realize how we let so many opportunities pass unheeded. In the end, what do we have but those who loved us and those we loved in return? Even the fact that your grandfather was the Earl of Staton—all the land and the houses and the wealth, none of it mattered in his final hours. All he wanted was the people he loved. I wish we had come sooner, that’s all.”

Daphne grasped her father’s hand. “Grandpa came to America to see us as often as he could. We exchanged letters at least once a week. It wasn’t as though we weren’t in touch.”

“He doted on you, you know. You were his only granddaughter, and you were the light of his life. I think after Richard was born and your grandparents sighed with relief that their familial duty had been done, your grandfather wanted a daughter. Instead he had two more sons. Other noble families were envious at his surplus of boys, but your grandfather wanted a girl.”

“Grandpa loved you dearly,” Daphne said.

“Yes. And I him. Yet I never thought it was important to come back to England to see him. All I thought about was why I needed to get away. I don’t regret one moment I’ve spent in America with your mother and you, but I realize now I didn’t need to turn my back on everything that helped shape me into who I am.”

“It’s all right, Papa. I understand why you want me to stay.”

“It’s only for a few days. Your granny can’t have you married off by Friday.”

“It won’t be for lack of trying.” Daphne kissed her father’s cheek. “I’ll be fine. I know how to say no if it comes to it.”

“I know you do. That’s why your grandmother doesn’t know what to do with you. Well-born English girls are raised to acquiesce to their parents’ wishes.”

“Luckily for me, I was not.”

Henry huffed as he lifted the leather cases, and Frederick opened the door for him. Daphne put her arm through her father’s and they walked to the centerpiece of the house, the regal staircase with the ornamental handrail. They went down and out the front door, opened by Mr. Ellis, and Daphne walked her father to the carriage and held his walking stick while he seated himself inside.

“Look at this as an adventure,” Frederick said. “You’ll have Hembry Castle virtually to yourself for four whole days. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the birds are chirping happy songs. Go for a walk through the parkland. Read a book in one of the gardens. If you leave the grounds, though, ask Mrs. Ellis to send a maid with you. It wouldn’t be proper for an unmarried young woman to be seen walking about by herself.”

“Why not?”

“A young woman out by herself is a frail thing that may be preyed upon at any moment. Didn’t you know that?”

“No, and it’s a good thing I didn’t or I might not have come. Besides, will I have time for all these walks and all this reading? Won’t Grandma expect me to entertain her while you’re away?”

“I shouldn’t think so. She has village business to tend to, and acquaintances will pay calls out of respect for your grandfather. I wouldn’t expect to see much of her except at dinner.” The driver waved in Frederick’s direction. “I’m sorry, dearest, but I must go. I’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t worry about me. You take care of your newspaper business. Don’t work too hard like you always do. And say hello to Mr. Ellis.” Daphne looked at the butler, who appeared not to hear. “I mean young Mr. Ellis.”

Frederick smiled. The carriage lurched forward, and Daphne waved as the gray vehicle disappeared down the tree-lined path. When she turned toward the house she was startled to see the elder Mr. Ellis waiting.

“Miss Daphne, her ladyship will be detained for much of the day, though she would like to see you at dinner tonight. In the meanwhile, might I suggest some pleasant walks around the grounds? Or, if you’d prefer, I’d be happy to have Mr. Harvey, our gardener, show you the rose garden. Your father mentioned that roses are your favorite. The garden is quite lovely this time of year.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ellis. Yes, I’d love to see the rose garden.”

“Ellis to the family, Miss Daphne.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll catch on, I promise.”

“Don’t fret, Miss Daphne. It takes time, but you’ll learn. I’ve been here 40 years and I’m still learning.”

“I doubt that. You’ve helped me so much since I’ve been here.” Mr. Ellis bowed. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable here. My own grandmother dislikes me.”

“Never doubt her ladyship’s sincere feelings for you, Miss Daphne. She wants the best for you, even if her best is different than what you’re used to.”

“You’re exactly right, Ellis. Thank you.”

Mr. Ellis disappeared, leaving Daphne alone in the foyer, which suddenly felt cold and cavernous. It was always cold inside the castle. Even when it was warm outside, it was chilly inside the vast rooms. Daphne had to remember to always wear a shawl to protect her from the raw air, and at that moment, standing alone in the foyer, she pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and shivered. She had accepted her father’s challenge and now she must face up to it. She would know Hembry better. To begin her explorations, she found her way to the library with only a couple of wrong turns. In the dark-paneled room with the floor to ceiling shelves she searched the titles and found one to her liking, pulling down a copy of Our Mutual Friend. A social satire was exactly what she needed. Mr. Dickens would make her laugh with the absurdity of those on an insatiable quest for Society. There were a number of details about life at Hembry Castle worthy of mockery, Daphne thought.

Mr. Ellis cleared his throat. “Mr. Harvey is here, Miss Daphne. He’s come to take you to see the roses. Mrs. Graham is fixing a luncheon basket, and Henry and Colin are bringing a table and chair into the garden. I thought under the beech tree would be best since the leaves will shield you from the sunlight while allowing you to see the garden to the best advantage.”

“Is there anything you don’t think of, Ellis?”

“If there is, let me know and I’ll have it seen to at once.”

They joined Mr. Harvey in the foyer. The gardener looked uncomfortable, hopping from one foot to the other as though in fear of muddying the polished floor with his earthworn boots. He was a middle-aged, sunburned man, Mr. Harvey, but he was polite to Daphne and deferential to Mr. Ellis. Mr. Ellis accompanied Daphne and Mr. Harvey down the exterior stairs and alongside the winding lake to the rose garden on the west side of the castle grounds. The stippled gold sunlight brightened everything it touched, and with the down-like clouds floating overhead, the chipper bird songs, the green hills, and the pleasantly warm weather, Daphne thought she had found a little piece of paradise in her father’s childhood home.

“Here we are,” said Mr. Harvey.

Daphne followed the mosaic path and found herself in a rose-filled paradise. She savored the damask and nasturtium scents that mingled easily with clove and citrus. She walked from bush to bush, admiring the romantic English roses, the floribundas, the grandifloras, the miniatures, the shrubs, the climbing roses that covered the fences. There were flowers in every shade from the palest pink to the deepest red to the brightest yellow, with white, lavender, salmon, peach, and cream for accent. Mr. Harvey explained the types of roses, their scents, and Daphne, who dabbled in gardening at home, asked questions about how Mr. Harvey managed to prompt such glorious blooms. As they spoke, Mr. Ellis checked that the table and chair were set under the beech tree and the footmen had laid out Daphne’s luncheon in an appropriate manner.

“Everything is in order, Miss Daphne,” Mr. Ellis said. “Mrs. Graham made the orange custard pudding especially for you since she heard you enjoyed it so much. Mr. Harvey and I will leave you in peace now.”

Daphne marveled at her surroundings. She had seen many rose gardens, certainly, and there were her own bushes at home. But she had never seen anything so lavish, so perfectly designed, as though not one detail had gone unheeded. She looked into the wicker basket set neatly on the table and found cold salmon with mayonnaise sauce, a green salad with peas and asparagus, bread and cheese, and the orange custard. There was a flask with tea, already sweetened to her taste, and she enjoyed her luncheon surrounded by the natural beauty of roses. When she finished eating, she opened her book and immersed herself in the world of the Boffins and the unfortunate effect sudden wealth can have on anyone. Daphne thought of her own situation, finding herself living in this lavish house with servants to tend to her every need. Would she become as diseased by her change in circumstances as Noddy Boffin? And what about John Harmon, allowing the others to believe he was dead, presenting himself as John Rokesmith, observing everyone’s true natures without invoking the slightest suspicion about who he really was? Daphne shook her head. It was just as her Uncle Richard had told her when he read Oliver Twist to her when she was a girl—“Mr. Dickens would have his flights of fancy.”

When the afternoon began to wane Daphne decided to return to the castle. It was easy enough to find. You couldn’t miss it from anywhere in the region of Hembry, but she paused to admire the follies—the Greek-style temple, the obelisk, and the ruins of a stone tower with stair turrets. As she neared the house she turned to the right instead of the left and found herself in the courtyard by the servants’ entrance. She knocked on the door and a young housemaid appeared.

“I’m so sorry. I was out at the garden and I must have made a wrong turn. Is Mr. Ellis here?”

“Mr. Ellis?”

Daphne heard keys clinking on the other side of the door.

“Jemima, why are you standing there like you’ve seen a ghost?” Mrs. Ellis opened the door wider. “Miss Daphne, what are you doing down here? Come in, please.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ellis. I was in the rose garden and somehow I ended up at your door. I feel a little foolish, to be honest. My sense of direction seems to elude me here.”

“If you pay attention you can learn the ways of the house, Miss Daphne. There are whispers telling you everything you need to know if you listen.”

Daphne looked down the hallway, painted white with dark wood beams overhead. It was such a contrast to the lavish living upstairs. She walked to the kitchen at the far end and saw Mrs. Graham standing over the stove stirring two pots, one with her right hand and the other with her left. “Mrs. Graham?”

Lainie Graham started when she heard her name. “Miss Daphne! Was something wrong with your luncheon?”

“Not at all. I wanted to say thank you. Mr. Ellis said you made the orange custard especially for me.”

“Her ladyship mentioned how much you enjoyed it so I thought you might like one this afternoon.”

“I did like it, very much.” Daphne noticed the kitchen maids stealing glances at her as they chopped vegetables. “I know you’re busy. I’ll let you get back to work.”

On the other side of the green baize door, Daphne walked into the sitting room, expecting to find it empty, but there was her grandmother in the wing chair near the window embroidering flowers onto the canvas in her round frame.

“Daphne, my dear, how nice of you to take some time for your Grandmamma. Ellis said you were picnicking in the rose garden. How did you find it?”

“It’s beautiful, Grandma. It’s the most beautiful rose garden I’ve seen.”

“I’m glad. Now listen to me, my dear. I know your father has plans to return to America soon. He wants to leave before the winter weather makes crossing impossible, but I’m hoping I can convince you to stay.” She gestured with her round embroidery frame at the settee. “Sit, Daphne. I want to talk to you.”

At that moment, with the two of them alone in the sitting room, Lady Staton seemed less formidable. Perhaps this was the woman her father was referring to, the woman he wanted Daphne to know. Threading yellow silk into daisies, the Countess of Staton deflated from a grand lady to a normal woman doing an ordinary thing.

“How are you enjoying your stay at Hembry?”

Daphne spoke loudly since the ear trumpet was nowhere to be seen. “I’m having a wonderful time, Grandma. I’ve listened to Papa tell stories about this house my whole life, and I’m glad I finally get to see it for myself.”

“And you’re finding England to your taste?”

“It does rain a lot, but other than that I am.”

“Very good.” Lady Staton put down her embroidery. “Daphne, I want you to know that I don’t mean to cast you aside.”

“That’s good of you, Grandma.”

“I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

“With protocol. With our way of life. You understand we’re a very old family, don’t you?”

“I thought everyone’s family was as old as everyone else’s.”

“Not in England, my dear. In England only aristocrats can be said to have old families.”

“I see.”

“You’re the niece of the Earl of Staton, and we have a place in Society to uphold. There are expectations for a family like ours, and everyone’s eyes are always upon us. We’re required to be models of behavior at all times. And I’d like to help you learn our ways.”

“Certainly people would understand that I wasn’t brought up to your way of life. Certainly...”

“What I can guarantee, Daphne, is that none of that is true. As long as you are in England, and as long as you stay at Hembry, you will be scrutinized as we are all scrutinized. After your presentation to the Queen the scrutiny will magnify a hundredfold.” She leaned close to Daphne, squinting as though she were looking through her daughter-in-law’s eye glass. “Was your mother blond?”

“She was.”

“And you have no suitors?”

A vision of chocolate-brown hair, lively hazel eyes, and a friendly laugh struck Daphne. She was startled by it, but she swept it swiftly back to wherever it came from. “I do not.”

“No one?” Daphne shook her head. “That’s surprising, but it is good news. It suits our purposes. I’ve written to the Marchioness of Carrington, and she agrees that you must be presented at court next Season. You’re old for it at 20, but better late than never.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary, Grandma. Besides, is that even allowed? I’m not sure Her Majesty would want an American presented in her court.”

“American girls are presented before the Queen all the time. Besides, you’re not any American girl. You’re the niece of the Earl of Staton. I’ll submit your name for consideration, and I may neglect to mention the fact that you were raised in Honeynut in America.”

“Connecticut.”

“That’s what I said. Then, once you’re presented, I’ll find all manner of eligible young men to introduce to you. We’ll find you a husband very soon afterwards, I’m certain of it. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were engaged by the end of the Season. Even if your father isn’t the heir, it is still correct for you to make a suitable match.”

“What would be a suitable match?” Daphne asked.

“A young man from a suitable family, of course.”

“What constitutes a suitable family?”

“Believe it or not, Daphne, I understand why you ask the question. You wouldn’t have suitable families in America, would you? The country is barely old enough to hold its head up. A suitable family is one with a history as old as ours.”

“Other aristocrats?”

“Yes.”

“Rich aristocrats, I assume.”

“They’re aristocrats.”

“But what if I don’t like any of the men who are from suitable families? What if I like someone else?”

“Who else?”

Daphne thought again of chocolate-brown hair and an amiable smile. “I only meant, what if I found a wonderful man who was a doctor or a lawyer. Or a journalist?”

“That sort of thing might do well in America, but here we have standards. The niece of the Earl of Staton will not marry a journalist. The niece of the Earl of Staton will not become involved in a mésalliance. You may as well marry the muffin man.”

“Who lives in Drury Lane?”

The Countess shook her head. “You are much like your father. I do not mean that as a compliment.”

“I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m trying to understand.”

“I take full responsibility, Daphne. I should have brought you to England long ago. I asked your father, I pleaded with him to send you after you were born. Even if he and your mother insisted on staying in America, there was no reason we couldn’t raise you properly here at Hembry. But he refused. Neither he nor your mother could ever be made to see the sense in it. I’ll never understand American mothers. How can the nanny do her job if the mother can’t bear to be without her children?” Daphne said nothing, and her grandmother continued. “We must prepare you to be presented to the Queen. When is your birthday?”

“May 12th.”

“You’ll be one-and-twenty on the 12th of May? That is cutting it close. Still, we’ve come back from worse in this family.” Again, Lady Staton studied Daphne as though she were a scientific specimen. “Do you wear your hair like that intentionally?”

“Don’t you like it, Grandma?”

“I want my maid, Rowland, to begin styling your hair. Then, after Mrs. Ellis has trained her, we can take the new girl Pamela as a maid for you. She seems a well-intentioned creature, and she’s about your own age so I think it would be a good match. We need to make sure you look the part of the niece of the Earl of Staton.”

“I’ve always done my own hair, Grandma.”

“So I can see.” Lady Staton sighed and the hard line of her mouth softened. “I know this is an adjustment for you, Daphne, I do. But this is the way our family has done things for a long time, and you are part of this family. I can see you have a bright spark, much as I did when I was your age. Your shortcomings are not your own fault, but the fault of your parents for bringing you up in America when you should have been raised here.”

Daphne had to restrain her smile. “Whatever shall be done about me, Grandma? I seem to be past hope.”

“No Meriwether has ever been beyond hope. Now, our first task is to begin accepting callers. The silver tray in the entrance hall is overflowing with cards left by those who have come to pay their respects. We didn’t see them, of course. It wouldn’t have been correct so soon after your grandfather’s death, but now I’ve sent back our own cards to indicate that we’re ready to receive visitors.”

Lady Staton gestured to the writing desk near the window. Daphne opened the top drawer and found a stack of scalloped-edged cards with a thick black border and the name The Countess of Staton written in calligraphy in the top corner. Daphne traced the embossed white dove with a pink rose in its beak with her finger.

“Grandpa would have hated this. He hated any sign of mourning.”

“Yes, my dear, you’re right. He would have. But this is the way we do things, so this is the way it must be done.” Lady Staton picked up the round wooden frame of her needlework and worried out a thread that had become unraveled in the canvas. “I’ll expect you to help me receive our callers. Our first guests should arrive tomorrow after luncheon.”

Whatever softness had relaxed Lady Staton’s demeanor vanished, and she was the grand dame once again. She nodded at Daphne, dismissing her, and resumed her needlework.