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From the latticed window of her bedroom Veronica watched as Anna stopped momentarily in front of the visitor. Anna started to speak and then narrowed her eyes as if in confusion.
Anna opened the front door, indicated for the man to come inside and then disappeared inside herself.
What on earth was Anna doing? Why was William leaving? And why was she showing that man inside?
Veronica left her bedroom and descended the main staircase, almost tripping as she moved. Her mind was a whir. She was supposed to be in William’s cart, making her way towards the train station with her belongings. She was supposed to be leaving Bertie. There might still be time. If she could get rid of the visitor quickly, they might have time to summon William back before Bertie returned from his appointment in Dorchester. Veronica tried to take control of her nerves.
Anna stopped and looked up at Veronica, a frightened expression on her face. Veronica looked past Anna and into the eyes of a man she recognised but had not seen for years. She stopped on the final stair, let out a large breath and gripped the bannisters for fear of collapsing.
‘No,’ she whispered and then collected herself. ‘Anna,’ Veronica said, forcing the words out with as much calm as possible. ‘I think … perhaps today … I think that some of the trunks may need …’
Anna searched her employer’s eyes. Veronica knew she looked lost. She didn’t have the answer.
Not now. How would she ever leave now?
Anna shot Veronica a desperate look as the maid walked past. But there was nothing either of them could do.
The man smiled up at Veronica, a wide smile that reached his eyes as she eventually descended the stairs towards him.
‘Veronica Hanbury, as I live and breathe,’ he said.
‘Freddie?’ she whispered. She was looking into the eyes of Bertie’s brother.
‘In the flesh,’ he said with a grin. ‘Although I should have called you Veronica Standish, but I’m afraid old habits die hard.’
Veronica stepped off the final stair slowly and stood in front of Freddie, looking at his features before throwing her arms around him. Freddie staggered back a pace and slowly lifted his arms to embrace her.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ she whispered into his neck. He was warm, despite the cold of the day and memories flooded back to her of the last time he’d held her like this; so long ago when things were simple. Before everything had changed and she’d married his brother. Before it had all gone so horribly wrong.
He pushed her back gently, holding her at arm’s length, and studied her. ‘You’re still as beautiful as the last time I saw you. Feels like years ago.’
‘It was,’ she nodded. ‘Nearly five.’
‘Well, there we are then,’ he replied and let go of her.
She searched his face. He looked the same, but now his eyes creased at the sides when he smiled and the beginnings of frown lines had appeared on his forehead.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Veronica said.
‘Really? I wrote and told Bertie I was coming. Or rather, I replied to his strongly worded demand.’
‘I had no idea. He didn’t tell me.’
‘Strange. Maybe he didn’t think I’d come.’
‘But you are here,’ Veronica said, smiling.
He nodded. ‘Is there anyone about to lend a hand with suitcases and trunks and whatnot?’
‘No. I’m sorry. We’ve packed up all the things that are going to the London house and sent them on already. We’ve only got Cook, and the maids Rebecca and Anna, who you just saw, until we go. We’ve got a removal company coming to help load the last remaining things when we all leave in a few days. Can I help you with your cases?’
Freddie laughed. ‘Of course not. I’ll manage. Bertie ordered me to clear my things out on the off chance the army sneak off with my possessions while they’ve got free run of the place. I’ve only brought a few suitcases to fill. I can’t imagine there’s much left of me here really.’
Veronica knew all too well how true that last statement was. Bertie had removed almost every trace of his brother from the house years ago. It was as if Freddie had never existed at all. The strange mix of dislike and misplaced jealousy Bertie had always felt towards his younger brother ran as fresh now as it had always done. So it was odd that Bertie had ordered Freddie all the way down to Dorset for the purpose of clearing out his possessions. She was sure Bertie knew there wasn’t much left.
‘Am I in my old bedroom?’
‘I … I’m not sure what’s made up. I didn’t know you were coming. Most of the furniture has gone to London or into storage.’
He put his hand softly on her arm and she looked down at it. Her breathing slowed. He’d always had a calming effect on her. He removed his hand and made a fuss of looking at his watch. ‘Any chance of some lunch and a stiff drink? I’ve been travelling for bloody ages. The trains were a nightmare. Full of troops and the Navy. I stood almost all the way from London.’
While Freddie collected his cases from the cart and paid the driver, Veronica went off to see if Cook could rustle up a meal. Most of the vegetables from the kitchen garden had been dug up in preparation for departure. Bertie was adamant if they were leaving the house to the army, they’d already taken enough from him. The army could grow its own food, Bertie reasoned. He was determined to leave nothing behind for the soldiers. Veronica was appalled at Bertie’s unpatriotic stance, especially as the stews Cook had been providing over the past week were far too plentiful for the household and most of it was being wasted. But she knew that to say anything would lead to what her mother would call ‘unpleasant behaviour that should not be mentioned again’.
Veronica thought of her mother. The idea of running to her had crossed her mind but had quickly been eschewed in favour of going it alone. Mrs Hanbury idolised Bertie. She’d never quite got the hang of calling him by his nickname, instead preferring the way ‘Sir Albert’ felt on her tongue and how it sounded to her bridge club friends when she spoke of her son-in-law, the MP. When Veronica had tried to discreetly mention that Bertie took to drink and was a little free and easy with his fists, Mrs Hanbury had told her never to mention it again. In that moment Veronica knew that in marrying Bertie she had made her own bed and had to lie in it.
Bertie hadn’t always been this way. It had been subtle at first, so subtle Veronica had managed to brush her fears under the carpet. Slowly, over the first months of their marriage, the honeymoon period had crossed seamlessly into silence and surliness on Bertie’s part. And what Veronica now saw as desperation on her part to get Bertie to engage with her. Perhaps that had been what pushed him over the edge. There had been many a time Veronica had worried Bertie disliked her. But whenever she had found her mind wandering in that direction she had accused herself of going mad.
There were many ‘firsts’ in Veronica’s life she could remember with utmost clarity. Her first day at boarding school and the fear of leaving her family behind; the first time she saw Freddie and how remarkably wonderful he had been – unlike any other man she had ever met. And the first day Bertie hit her. The memory of that day had burnt itself into her mind with the same ferocity as that which his fist had landed on her cheekbone. She would never forget it. It heralded the beginning of the end of their marriage, such as it had ever been.
The argument had been short and the violence had come from nowhere. Although if Veronica had analysed