REVELATIONS

Edward leans forward and taps his pipe into the lead crystal ashtray which dominates the side table. He pushes the tobacco into the bowl of the pipe and strikes a match, sucking on the stem to draw a light.

Emily breathes deeply and smiles. She loves the musky aroma of Edward’s pipe tobacco. She moves over to the decanter on the walnut embossed sideboard and pours amber liquid into two glasses. They are in the habit of spending Sunday evenings together when Emily is in her cottage. Margaret is used to it and does not question the old friends.

Edward accepts the glass with a nod and a smile which deepens his laughter lines. He stretches his long legs and settles deeper into the armchair resting his head against the wing. Emily sinks into the chair on the other side of the inglenook. They sit in silence, gazing into the dancing flames. The fire crunches and sighs as the logs shift and settle.

After a few minutes Emily stirs and turns to look at Edward. The downturn of his lips reminds her more of Edward the boy than Edward the man. He seems pensive. Sophie has been gone for a week and Emily assumes he must have seen her off. It must have been difficult for him to see her go, but Emily chooses not to mentioned it unless he raises it himself.

‘Ok Eddie?’ she says in a low voice.

Edward looks at her, startled. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

‘Mousetrap?’

They both smile as Emily goes tothe dining table to collect the plate of yellow hard cheese which she has sliced into large chunks the size of matchboxes. Edward sinks his teeth into the cheese and shuts his eyes to savour the flavour.

‘Delicious. If Margaret could see me now. Cheese, whiskey, pipe – all the things which will fur my arteries and send me to an early grave!’

‘A little indulgence once a week won’t do any harm. All things in moderation,’ she smiles, nibbling on a dainty sliver balanced on a salted cracker. ‘I’m sure a pipe is better than those cigars you used to smoke.’

He smiles, gazing into the flames.

‘You do seem miles away this evening.’ She moves to top up his glass, having barely touched her own. Edward’s cheeks are rosy in the glow of the fire. He removes his handkerchief from the top pocket of his jacket and dabs his brow.

‘Can you keep a secret?’

Emily puts down her plate and sits up straight in her chair.

‘You surely don’t need to ask.’

She reaches across and squeezes Edward’s forearm through the tweed. ‘What is it Eddie?’

There are dark shadows below his eyes. ‘Oh Lord, Em, it’s such a mess – and yet I’m so happy!’

Emily lets go of his arm and leans back in her chair. ‘What’s her name?’ Her voice had an edge to it.

‘Don’t be like that Em. This is the real thing.’

Emily stands up, grabs a poker and jabs at the fire. ‘It will blow over – it always does.’

‘It’s different this time Em. I want to be with her forever.’

Emily turns from the fire to look at him. ‘Are you quite mad? You’ll lose everything.’

‘If love is madness then yes. Sophie makes me happy.’

‘Sophie?’ Emily returns the poker to the fireside set and sits back heavily in her armchair.

‘Yes. Who else? We’ve been close for months. Surely you’ve noticed’

Emily’s stares at Edward in disbelief, her hand to her mouth.

‘Alright, it’s a shock, but please be happy for me. I needed to tell someone. I feel so much better now.’

‘But Edward, Sophie’s gone.’

‘But she’s coming back, it’s only a quick trip.’

‘No. She said goodbye to me. She’s off on her travels again. I thought you knew. She hasn’t left an address.’

Edward drains his glass and stands up. ‘You must be mistaken. We love each other.’

He strides over to the front door, wrenching it open. The door slams behind him and Emily remains in her armchair gazing at the photograph of them as children on the mantelpiece. The armchair dwarfs her and she feels quite alone. After a moment she shakes herself and starts to clear the plates and glasses.

Weeks pass without word of Sophie. Emily returns to London and Edward’s habit of calling in at the cottage to check for post dwindles after a couple of months. As the hour changes to the winter months Margaret sits with him by the fire in the drawing room and shares her news: a baby is due, at last, and it seems it will survive, unlike the others. Edward feels something shift in his heart. The hope that Sophie will come back is replaced by the idea of a new start, for him, for his marriage, and for Tregethlan. As Margaret blooms, Edward sees his wife as she was when he first set eyes on her, beautiful and full of life.

Their daughter, Josephine, is born at home in the small hours of an April morning. Her shock of hair and the fierce grip of her tiny fingers around his tells Edward that this is his world now, not a romantic fantasy. As he attends to the sprawling estate he carries little Jo with him, introducing her to the animals, the farm workers, and the land which will be hers one day. When a son, Roland, is born, two years after his sister, Margaret is the one to be besotted: the tiny blond boy is delicate at first but as determined as Jo and as angelic in looks as his mother.

The family slips into two halves: father and daughter, mother and son. For now, their hopes for the future and the security of the estate seem more solid than in previous decades. Edward has his legacy and even though the sound of Iolanthe’s spinnakers brings back a pang of memory when he takes the children sailing, the recollection of Sophie, and the freedom of their times together, fades.

Out in the fields and the woodlands the Byghan’s and Greatwoods and other farm workers from the village sow, reap, and manage the animals. Edward sells pockets of land which sprout new houses, and presides over the diminishing acreage, staying just within the estate’s means. When a speculative investment with his old schoolfriend Davenport fails to deliver he goes sheepishly to Margaret who dips into her personal fortune. When it happens again, and again, she puts her foot down and says there is little more to draw on. More land is sold, repairs to the house have to wait, and Margaret’s spending habits are curtailed. They never talk about the future, but watch their children grow, hopeful that they will halt the decline in Tregethlan’s fortunes. Like Edward before them, Jo and Roly carry the expectation that the estate will be their responsibility, whether or not they choose it.

After Roly’s death, Margaret shuts herself away. Edward, in his separate bedroom, cannot reach her. When she emerges, her lipstick smile in place and her hair impeccably set, she can hardly bear to speak to Edward. He has no idea what to say. He still has his favourite child. With her own money Margaret sets about making improvements to the ground floor. She orders the silk curtains and wallpaper she and Roly chose together, referring constantly to the drawings and swatches he had made. Ignoring the damp corners and leaking windowsills, Margaret pours herself into realising Roly’s designs, determined that the ambitions they shared for the once-elegant rooms could be achieved.

Finally, only she is left. Margaret sits alone in the drawing room, a widow in her late 60s and Jo now far away, following her environmental passion. There is no more spare land to sell and her own resources are greatly diminished. The future of the estate is more uncertain that it ever was under Edward’s stewardship. She will have to think of something, but for now it is more comfortable to pour another gin and wait for the sound of Sheila Byghan arriving to cook her evening meal.

Chapter 37