“No, no! ’Tis Mr Vance, sir. Went to the Good Lord’s arms just three days ago, poor man. Buryin’ him this afternoon, they are.”
Thus, Kent spent his first day in Branton attending the funeral of a man he had never met. He could not now call upon Mrs Vance, but he had sent a note of condolence from the inn, and the innkeeper had directed him to the church where the funeral service was to be held. Kent sat at the back of the packed church, and then followed the mourners out to the graveyard, although standing a little apart, for he wanted to be able to give Katherine a full report. He wished he knew the names of those present.
After the interment, as the crowd began to drift away, a small group of young men came over to him at his vantage point beside a listing stone cross.
“Good day to you, sir,” one of them said. “You are welcome here, naturally, but… were you a friend of my father-in-law?”
“Mr Vance? No, I never met him. I briefly met Mrs Vance, however, so as I happened to be in Branton, I thought I would pay my respects here, since I cannot call upon such a recently widowed lady.”
“She would be delighted to see you, I am sure. Will you not come back to the house for refreshments?”
“No, indeed! I would not dream of intruding upon a grieving family.”
“Then at least give us your name, sir, so that we may tell her of your presence.”
“I am Kent Atherton, a friend of—”
They all cried out in delight. “Mr Atherton! We have heard so much about you! Indeed, you must come to the house with us, or Mrs Vance will never forgive us.”
And so he went, and Mrs Vance greeted him with the same pleasure, brushing aside his apologies. “I’d have been mortified if you’d gone away without calling,” she said, beaming at him. “Come and sit beside me and tell me how Katy’s going on. Reggie, a glass of something for Mr Atherton.”
And so the afternoon passed off most pleasantly in talking about Katherine… or Katy, as everyone called her. Kent even asked Mrs Vance about that.
“Oh, everyone calls her Katy. It was her mother who called her Katherine, always. Such a sweet lady, but very formal. So ladylike! But then she was a Hawley, and you know what they’re like! Huge estate up near Carlisle, and connected to the Marquess of Carrbridge, distantly. Mind you, everyone’s connected to him! The important families, that is, not the likes of us.” She laughed heartily, not at all the grieving widow. When Kent offered his condolences, she waved it aside. “No, none of that, if you please. I shall miss my husband dreadfully, for it’s above thirty years we’ve been man and wife, and never a cross word between us, but he’s been in a bad way for a long time, Mr Atherton, and I don’t mind telling you he was ready to go at the end there, and I’m glad his sufferings are over.”
Kent left when the lawyers began making noises about reading the will, but not before he had been introduced to Mr Ridwell, who had bought Longfarley, Mr Parish’s mill. Kent made an appointment to see the beam engine the next morning.
***
Katherinehadspentthemorning helping Mr Bertram Atherton box up his own books from the library, ready to be taken to the Dower House just as soon as the bookcases were ready to receive them. It was a pleasant occupation, dusting, packing and occasionally peeking inside some of the more interesting works. Since Mr Bertram was inclined to do the same thing, and Emily had found a novel to read, the morning was half gone, almost before they were aware of it.
A knock on the door was followed soon after by the butler admitting Uncle Cathcart and another man.
“Ah, Katherine, my dear,” her uncle said, beaming at her. “Here is someone you will not have been expecting to see.”
The young man beside him was perhaps thirty or so, tall and well built, with fair hair, deep blue eyes and a wide smile. Katherine looked at him in some bewilderment.
“Well?” he said, tipping his head on one side as the smile deepened. “Don’t you recognise me, sister?”
Sister! Surely it could not be—
“Harold?” she said tentatively.
“The very same, returned to you at last.”
“But… but you are dead!”
He roared with laughter. “As you see, I’m not quite dead yet.”
23: Branton
Katherinecouldscarcelybelieveit. Her brother Harold, thought to be dead ten years ago, was alive and well, and had come to find her.
“But… but where have you been all this time? Ten years, Harold! Ten years since we thought you died in the Battle of Cape St Vincent! What happened to you?”
His face clouded. “Oh… I am not entirely sure. A small coastal village somewhere hot… France, somewhere in France… that’s all I can tell you. Must have had a bang on the head, for I had not the least idea who I was or where I was or anything, but one day a naval vessel anchored offshore and a party came ashore and someone recognised me. Brought me back to England, helped me remember bits and pieces, and as soon as I began to remember things, I remembered you, sister dear, and so here I am.”
“Have you been to Branton?”
