“No, I came straight here.”
“Do you know that Mama and Papa are both dead? Mama seven years ago, and Papa just last year, before Christmas.”
“I heard, yes. You’re all alone in the world now, Katherine. Well, apart from me, that is. You and me against the world, eh? Just like it always was.”
For an hour they talked, or at least Harold talked, while the Athertons plied him with questions. Katherine herself was too bemused to formulate any rational thoughts in her head. Harold alive! It was extraordinary! How was it possible? And yet, his explanation, sparse as it was, made sense.
He had now left His Majesty’s navy, he told them, being unfit for the work any more, but he had received his full amount of back pay and even a modest bounty, so he was, in his own words, comfortably situated. He hoped to set up home with Katherine, perhaps in York.
That provoked a response from her. “Not in Branton?”
“I should find it confusing when I remember so little of my time there — mere flashes of memory, that is all.”
“It might help your memory to return fully to be in the familiar places again,” she said.
“But imagine how humiliating it would be to meet people who remember me well, and be unable to name them or respond sensibly. No, better to start afresh, I feel, where I am not at all known, and can make new memories.”
After an hour, Mrs Atherton deemed that Katherine needed to rest, to recover from the shock of meeting Harold again, and at once he rose.
“A thousand apologies, madam. I have been thoughtless in staying so long.”
Uncle Cathcart offered Harold a room at Cathcart House, and Mrs Atherton invited him to dine at Westwick Heights that evening, after which he gracefully withdrew, taking Uncle Cathcart with him. Katherine had a few hours to contemplate Harold’s reappearance. The matter was too exciting for a return to normal activities, so the books were abandoned, and the family gathered in the parlour to discuss it.
“When did you last see him?” was the first question.
“Let me see… I was six, so fourteen years ago. It was a very brief leave before he had to rejoin his ship. The last time he lived at home, I was only four.”
“That is why you do not recognise him,” Bertram said, “but Katherine, can you be sure he truly is your brother? Anyone could just appear and say he is Harold Parish. One hears such tales all too often, of unscrupulous men who prey on unprotected women.”
“But I am not unprotected,” Katherine said. “My uncle and aunt will look into it. I dare say one might write to the Admiralty to ask for more information. Besides, who would prey on me? I am not an heiress, likely to attract a fortune hunter. No, he must be genuine.”
“Does he look like your brother?” Bertram said.
“He does. The fair hair, the blue eyes… that is certainly how I remember him. And he is the right height, I think. He is more weather-beaten than I remembered, but that is not unexpected after he has been living in a fishing village for so many years.”
“And what about the accent?” Bertram said. “He does not talk in as refined a manner as you do.”
Katherine frowned. “I cannot remember how he used to talk. My father had an accent, too, but my mother insisted I talk properly, as she called it.”
“Bertram,” his father said, “you spend so much time reading about the Romans, it is possible that the devious ploys of the Caesars have altered your vision of the world. Sometimes a young man seemingly returned from the dead is just what he appears to be. He may have an accent, but it is mild, and he dresses well, he mentioned a valet and he arrived in a hired post-chaise and four. He is not, I believe, intending to prey on Miss Parish.”
“That is all very true,” Bertram said with a rueful grimace. “I am too suspicious, perhaps. It is difficult to believe, but sometimes miracles do occur.”
“Indeed. So let us be thankful for this particular miracle and not put distrustful thoughts into Miss Parish’s head.”
For several days, Katherine and Harold got to know each other again. She moved back to Cathcart House, where she found Aveline already employing her charms on him. Katherine was pleased to see that he appeared impervious. The rest of the family accepted him unreservedly, with none of Bertram’s suspicions.
Katherine herself wondered about him. He had few memories of childhood, although if she reminded him of an incident, he would sometimes say, “I think I remember that.” Nor did he recall much of his time at sea. His time as a virtual prisoner in a French fishing village he refused to talk about, saying only that it was a bad time and he disliked to be reminded of it.
There were two incidents, however, which convinced her that he was indeed her brother. Once she had spent an hour or so attempting to prod his memory of Branton, but without success. Giving it up, they had turned instead to the newspaper, reading over a piece about the Navy which she felt would interest him, when he cried out, “A balloon! One of those great contraptions that fills with air — I remember that!”
“A balloon? Oh yes, I did not see it. I was too little, but Papa took you to see it filled.”
“It rose a few feet off the ground, that was all. But it was such an impressive sight to a small boy. I must have been six or seven at the time.”
A day or so later, at dinner, he turned to Katherine with a puzzled expression. “Was there a fire? I have a vague memory of a fire in a large building.”
“The mill, yes! Papa’s first cotton mill, which burnt to the ground. You were a hero, Harold, for you saw the smoke and raised the alarm. Not that much could be done, for a building full of cotton burns all too well, but at least no one was hurt, except old Sam, the night watchman, who fell down the stairs and broke an arm in his haste to escape.”
