Another Life: Escape to Cornwall with this gripping, emotional, page-turning read

Mr Trovorrow, the agent, standing with his back to the fire, stirred uneasily at this. Isabella did not answer. Young as she was, she was aware that her father must blame someone.

Trovorrow cleared his throat. ‘Sir, there has been a tragic and shocking accident. No one is to blame, surely? Horses are unpredictable beasts.’

Isabella’s father opened his mouth as if he was going to be rude and then thought better of it. Isabella turned and left the room. There was no point in talking to her grieving and angry father when he had been drinking.

She walked through the hall and out of the front door. She walked down the steps to the drive and kept walking. She felt light and disembodied. There seemed no one to turn to. Had she caused her mother’s death? Was her father right?

She turned, dwarfed against the vast chestnuts that lined the drive, and looked back. She had always hated this view of the house, neither softened by scarlet creeper nor the shutters Helena told her all Italian houses had, which framed a house softly like eyelids as well as keeping it cool.

So many empty rooms, and now dust covers would soon hide her mother’s possessions. Her father had locked the door to Helena’s rooms and she could not even go there to smell her mother’s scent, touch the silver brushes, sink into the folds of her bed and breathe her in. Helena was lost to her forever and Isabella did not know how she could bear it or where she could turn for release from this unremitting pain.

She turned as she heard a trap coming up the drive and saw two horses pulling a cart. She moved aside to let it pass, but it stopped beside her and Ben Welland got down from the cart. He took his hat off.

‘Miss Isabella. The family are sad and sorry to hear about the accident to thy mother.’

He twisted his hat and met her eyes and held them steadily.

‘Thy mother was a good and beautiful woman.’

Isabella was overcome, for the carpenter was the first person to openly speak of Helena. She stood in the drive trying not to weep, nodding her head vigorously. The man went to the cart and lifted a piece of the tarpaulin.

‘I thought this would bring thee comfort, lass, for it was thy mother’s birthday present to thee.’

Under the tarpaulin lay the beautiful chest of drawers. Isabella touched the wood. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Oh yes. I thank you, Mr Welland.’

Lying in bed that night Isabella could see the dark shape of the chest and smell the faint scent of polish. She could remember her mother’s lovely face admiring it. For the first time since her mother’s death she felt comforted. She would have this one piece of furniture all her life and it would always remind her of Helena. This was her mother’s last birthday present to her, and Isabella thought, I will hand it on to my child and so it will go on, Helena’s chest giving pleasure to child after child down the years.

The following day they had a private service for the family and the household in the small chapel in the garden. They buried Helena with all the other Vyvyans in the family crypt. The small chapel was packed with estate workers and their wives, the women openly crying. Helena had seemed to these poor and hard-working people so different from the English aristocracy. She had been warm and young and approachable.

Daniel Vyvyan was of the old school. He was respected, but he had no idea of their daily lives; of their illnesses, tragedies or poverty; of their hopes and dreams. It would not occur to him that they had any, beyond being employed, having a roof over their heads and enough in their pockets on a Friday night for a pint.

It was Helena, and sometimes Isabella, who knew that a sick child had died, or a family were in debt, or a husband too long down the mines had consumption. It was Helena who had taken food or vegetables and persuaded her husband to let the gardeners cultivate a small field for their own use to sell on to other workers.

Daniel Vyvyan sat directly in front of the coffin, his face stiff and grey with loss.

Isabella sat in the same pew, but far from her father as if they were people from a separate family. Lisette, watching that straight little back, knew suddenly that she was the only person who could take care of Isabella now. All thoughts of a life out of service must fade.

Daniel shared a drink with his workers in the courtyard to receive their condolences. Isabella, watching from her window, saw Ben Welland and his family among them. Tom’s fair head stood a head taller than the others.

When everyone had gone, Isabella sat on the window seat looking out. A mist hung over the lake and a Cornish mizzle, light but drenching, blew in fine curtains across the drive.

What will happen to me now? I never imagined a life without Mama. I never thought about growing up without her. It feels as if I have lost both parents at once. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.

Two days after the funeral her father called her to him and told her he had decided to send her to cousins over on the Helford River. They had agreed to educate and finish her with their own three girls and then … Daniel obviously had no idea what would happen after that.

‘Papa, are you punishing me? I hardly know my cousins or my aunt. Why are you sending me away from my home? Am I to lose everything?’ Her voice broke.

Her father looked at her for the first time since Helena died.

‘Isabella, of course I am not punishing you. Without your mother you will be lonely. Lisette is the only female you talk to. I am going to travel and possibly visit your mother’s relations in Italy. I do not want to leave you alone in this house.’

‘I could come with you. I could look after you, Papa. Please, please let me come with you. I could see my Italian cousins, my aunts, please … please, Papa.’

She watched her father’s face close.

‘Do not make me go away. I would rather stay with Lisette here than go to strangers.’

‘I am sorry, child,’ he said, closing the subject. ‘I am doing the best thing for you, believe me. You will see this later.’

‘I only see that you cannot bear to have me near you,’ Isabella cried and turned and ran from the room.

This was true, but not for the reason Isabella believed. She was so like her mother in looks and character that Daniel did not want to be reminded daily of something precious he had lost. A beautiful and clever woman he loved, but took for granted. The knowledge of her value, witnessed by the grief at her funeral, bit and gnawed at his innards. He had to escape this.

However, he decided Lisette must go with Isabella to keep her company. He took his daughter’s cold little hand in the hall.

‘Isabella, I will write. You will be well looked after …’ He hesitated. ‘I was not myself … after the accident. Of course it was not your fault. Forget my words, I did not mean them. In no way are you to blame. Will you forget them?’

‘Yes, Papa,’ Isabella said dully.

He took her hands in his. ‘Now, come, smile at your papa before you leave so that I can remember a happier face on my travels.’

Isabella could not smile. But she reached up to kiss her father then turned with dignity to Lisette waiting by the carriage.

Daniel walked to the door, knowing he was sacrificing his only child. He groaned at his own selfishness and weakness, but he could not stay in this vast, empty, inherited mausoleum alone.

His last image of his daughter was of a small, frightened white face peering out of the window at him, before the carriage turned down the drive and out of sight.

Chapter 20 (#ulink_1e580ee2-0de1-5f70-8312-95f922db7865)

The taxi dropped them off near the bridge so that they could walk along the river path to the house. Mark pointed; ‘It’s three-quarters of the way along the path. Can you see, the house with the creeper growing up the front?’

His voice held a proprietorial excitement that made Gabby smile. It was late afternoon and people were beginning to leave offices and shops and go home. Even the river seemed busy with small tugs and cruisers. The path was wet from a high tide and they negotiated the puddles.

‘The river floods on a regular basis at certain times of the year,’ Mark said. ‘All the houses have flood barriers at their front doors to stop the water entering the houses. Sort of quaint, isn’t it? People dash out to put them up as the river rises.’

‘Do the barriers work?’ Gabby wondered. ‘How awful to come back to a flooded house. You could be out when the river rises.’

‘According to my aunt, if in doubt, put them up anyway.’

Gabby peered into windows. ‘What lovely houses. Why did your aunt leave?’

‘She’s nearly eighty. Most of her friends in London have died. I think she was lonely and the house got too big. She’s gone off to live near Exeter with a friend, but she doesn’t want to sell her house until she knows whether living with someone else is going to work. So this arrangement is ideal for both of us.’

‘She’s very wise. How come she is living over here? Did she marry an Englishman?’

‘She did, but he died some time ago. They never had children, which was sad. She’s a great person. I’m her godson and she has always been very good to me.’

‘I expect you’ve been good to her, too.’