To her surprise the singing immediately stopped, and she was rewarded with silence. Feeling a strange rasping sensation in her throat, there then followed a cacophony of voices. One of which was full of urgency.
‘Quick, fetch Dr Carling, and then telephone Dr Flowerday.’
Another voice, and one that was much nearer to her, was softer. ‘Mrs Flowerday ... Hope ... can you hear me?’
‘Of course I can hear you!’ Hope replied. It took her a moment to register that the ugly croaking sound she could hear had come from her own mouth, and wasn’t confined to the inside of her head.
Very slowly, as though there were the heaviest of weights resting against them, she opened her eyes.
ChapterSeventy-Nine
Melstead Hall, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Ralph
Ralph really shouldn’t have polished off that bottle of wine last night, but one glass had led to another and such was the excellent quality of the claret that before he knew it, the bottle was empty, and he was spark out on the bed. As a consequence, he was dead to the world until lunchtime. Now, up and dressed, and ready to face his father, he went downstairs. It was time to prove his mettle and play his first move.
‘I thought I’d told you to leave this house.’
Ralph regarded his father as he sat at the head of thedining-room table. A napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt, the grotesque man was tucking into his Christmas lunch. On one side of him sat Julia, a visible nervous wreck, and opposite her, and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here, was Charles. The atmosphere could not have been less cheery had the threat of the Black Death been at the door.
‘And a Happy Christmas to you, Father,’ Ralph said brightly, pulling out the chair on which he had sat last night. There was no place setting for him today. Undeterred, his voice still as upbeat as he could make it, he said, ‘Happy Christmas to you, Julia, and you too,Charlie-Boy. What did Santa bring you?’
‘How many times have I told you not to refer to my son in that way? His name is Charles.’
‘You don’t mind me calling youCharlie-Boy, do you?’ Ralph said to hishalf-brother. ‘I bet you have any number of nicknames for me.’
The poor lad, his lips clamped together as if to keep him from bursting into tears, shook his head.
‘What? Not one little name?’
Arthur glared at Ralph. ‘He’s been told not to speak to you. One word, and he won’t receive a single present.’
Ralph looked across the table at his stepmother. ‘And does the same go for you, Julia? Are you also under orders not to speak to me?’
Giving him the smallest of nods, she poked at a sprout on her plate.
‘So what will you do to your wife, Father, if she dares to disobey you? Will you send for that quack of a doctor from London again? Or perhaps you’ll just lock her in her room?’
‘I suggest you keep your mouth shut and let the rest of us enjoy our lunch.’
‘Well yes,’ said Ralph, ‘I can see that this is the merriest of Christmas lunches, isn’t it? I doubt there’s another household in the land enjoying themselves as much as we are this fine day.’
In the silence that followed, and after helping himself to a chipolata from the dish on the table, he said, ‘By the way, Dad, how’s Miss Casey this morning?’
‘What sort of a question is that?’ his father demanded. ‘How should I know?’
Ralph shrugged. ‘I could have sworn I heard her being ill in the night. Sounded very like she was having trouble breathing. Does she suffer from asthma?’
The expression on his father’s face was priceless, his eyes bulged, and he looked ready to spit out whatever it was in his mouth. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he snarled.
‘Oh, I think you do. What is more, I think you’re going to let me stay for as long as I like. Won’t that be nice?’
Arthur wrenched the napkin from the neck of his shirt. ‘Julia and Charles,’ he barked, ‘kindly leave the room. I need to teach Ralph some manners.’
With not a word uttered, the two of them did as he said.
