Nicholas got out of the car and left the drive. He must have wandered towards the working area, as he came across the glasshouses and yards first. Stone buildings formed the boundary walls to a central yard. Most of the buildings were decayed, their neglect a direct result of the lack of gardeners left to maintain them. Many had left the estate en masse at the beginning of the war to join the Pals battalion raised in Truro. Young men, high on patriotic fervour but who were ignorant of the realities of war, had joined up with the belief they would bring it to a quick end. Nicholas had expected the abandoned gardens to be overgrown and choked by weeds. Flowers and shrubs were not a priority during war as they did not feed the population. However, the area he had wandered into was well toiled and appeared to have been neglected for no more than a year. He suspected women, local to the area, had been brought in during the war to tend to the vegetable gardens to help feed the country.
Nicholas left the area in search of the formal gardens. In years gone by, they had the reputation of being the finest in Cornwall and had formed a vibrant backdrop to his mother’s childhood. He found the orangery and maze, as his mother had once described, untouched, although weathered and untamed. However the large open spaces, that were once full of colourful blooms, were as he feared. The landscape had either been reclaimed for food production or neglected over the last five years. If the ground was not ploughed, it had been overtaken by weed. Ivy strangled the statues, the fountains remained silent and the glass panes of the orangery were either cracked or coated in algae and moss. The deterioration would no doubthave slowly destroyed his grandfather’s will to survive for, according to his mother, these grounds represented him and were all he had left to live for. His daughter’s passion and, as he saw it, her eventual betrayal as she took up the mantel for women’s rights, coupled with the loss of his wife, meant he had very little left in his life. The war had indirectly claimed another victim, thought Nicholas: the life of the man who had lived here before.
Nicholas made his way back to the house. The walk gave him time to reflect on the previous day’s visit to Coronation Park in Wadebridge. He had taken Rose there so she could say goodbye to Sam, but the solitude and quintessentially British countryside view, with a busy town nestled at its base, had stirred emotions within him too. Many of his comrades had not been lucky enough to see their country again. The reminder had choked him. The realisation had shaken him. He was glad Rose had been nearby so he was able to chase his sad thoughts away by taking comfort in her company.
The front door was now open and a middle-aged woman, with grey hair and wearing a black serviceable dress and white pinafore, stood on the threshold. He introduced himself solemnly and her face brightened, as she exclaimed her delight at meeting him. She introduced herself as Mrs Bennet, the housekeeper, and welcomed him into the main hall. Nicholas let his gaze wander over the wide, sweeping staircase, large oil paintings and beautifully carved statues lining the walls. He could not recall the hall from his childhood, but he could imagine what his future here might be like. He could see Rose emerging from one of the rooms to greet him, with a warm, welcoming smile on her face.
‘Let me show you into the drawing room and I’ll bring you a tray of food.’ Nicholas followed the housekeeper into one of the adjacent rooms. The room was well furnished, with alarge window overlooking one of the gardens. He found himself smiling as he once again imagined Rose walking along one of the paths and picking flowers that would one day grow there again. The ease with which the image came to mind confirmed his suspicions as to why he had finally accepted his title and inheritance. He was not here to claim Carrack House and Estate because it was his right as the new eighth Baronet of the Pendragon line to do so, but because he wanted it as a home. Since meeting Rose he wanted her to have the finest home and life she could have as it was what she deserved — and he realised that he wanted to be the man to provide it.
He looked about the room and imagined Rose sitting on one of the fine chairs. Sam came to mind and Nicholas hoped he would not mind the future he was planning. Knowing Sam, as he had come to know him during a time when death was just a whisper away, he would have been pragmatic about it.
‘Some man will marry her,’ he would have said, ‘and I would rather it was you.’
At least that was what Nicholas told himself when he had kissed her. Yet, when the euphoria of the kiss had died away and he had time to think of his friend again feelings of guilt always followed.
He wandered over to a painting on the wall depicting a proud gentleman with a portly stomach and greying sideburns. He recognised the man as his grandfather, although, in reality, he had few memories of ever meeting him. The old man had become obsessed with finding a fitting heir for his estate. This obsession had helped make his daughter’s childhood a misery. Nicholas thought this was deplorable, that he had made his mother suffer this way. Later, when she had grown into a woman, his grandfather had refused to accept the man she fell in love with. Nicholas felt this was grossly unfair too as his father was a good, honourable man who had worked his way up fromhumble beginnings. His grandfather’s behaviour led Nicholas to despise the cantankerous man and all he stood for. His mother may have forgiven him in later life, but by then Nicholas had no relationship with his grandfather to want to try and mend. He studied the portrait of him and wondered if he had inherited his grandfather’s stubborn streak; after all, it was this side of his character which had made him reluctant to accept class-based bigotry and the inheritance that had caused so much pain. Re-enlisting had given him a place to hide from the inevitable. His grandfather was ill at the time and it was accepted that he wouldn’t live much longer. He knew how to be a soldier. Returning in readiness to accept a title and estate from a man he did not respect did not sit well with him. So he had re-enlisted. Rather than being a hero remaining in uniform, in reality he had been a coward hiding behind it.
His thoughts wandered back to Rose, with her quiet, unassuming ways. He suspected she would have encouraged him to forgive the old man before he had died. ‘He was brought up in a different era, before war changed things,’ she might have said.
A twist of guilt knotted his stomach. He regretted not telling her at the very beginning that he knew Sam. At first he thought it best not to, because she would have felt his attempts to give her the Christmas she wanted were manufactured and meant nothing. She would have been right as they probably were at first, but he believed they had quickly changed over a simple cup of tea. She had looked so sad and shy, that he had wanted to take care of her and bring more joy to her life. He had wanted her to see him and not a man who was her dead fiancé’s friend, so he had kept Sam’s memory at bay for as long as he could. Despite the fact that his main reason for entering Rose’s life had been to perform a task, he knew now that he no longer wished to leave it.
How ironic. He had resisted coming home and now he didn’t want to return to the army. His authorised leave, which was longer than the norm because of who his grandfather was, would be drawing to an end shortly before Christmas Day. He had seventeen months left to serve in order to complete his re-enlistment term of twenty-seven. He had a lot to do in a short space of time. He needed to ensure Carrack House and Estate were placed in trustworthy hands until his return and that Rose knew the truth about his friendship with Sam. He also wanted her to know how much she had come to mean to him in such a short space of time. Did she care for him as much as he had come to care for her? Would she wait for him?
‘The painting is of your grandfather, Sir Robert.’ Nicholas was dragged from his thoughts by Mrs Bennet’s voice at his side. He noticed the tray of food she had placed on the table for the first time. How long had he been staring at the rounded face of his grandfather, yet thinking of others? ‘We are so pleased to see you safe and well, Sir Nicholas. The last time I saw you, you were a small child and I was a maid.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t recall very much of that time.’
‘You were very small and the visits were infrequent. Would you like to meet the rest of the staff after taking some refreshments? I’m afraid there are only three of us now. We keep the place aired and try our best.’ She began to chuckle. ‘But none of us are spring chickens.’
Nicholas accepted her offer and sat down to eat. Meeting the small number of staff would be a good place to start and tonight he intended on calling on Rose to tell her the truth. As for the renovation of the gardens — he knew one of the best landscape gardeners in England who would be only too willing to offer his advice.
* * *
Nicholas parked the car and jumped out, whistling a tune as he ambled his way along the road to Rose’s house. She told him that she spent her weekends baking for the shop, but tonight he had a mind to take advantage of the clear December sky and ask her to go for a walk with him by the river’s edge. It would provide the privacy for him to tell her how much she meant to him. What could be more romantic than a confession of his love for her by moonlight? He might also use the moment to confess he knew Sam. Rose had a kind and understanding soul. She would forgive him for not telling her sooner.
Wouldn’t she? They could start the rest of their lives together with a clean slate. Christmas was just around the corner. They could spend the lead-up to Christmas with each other and he could show her Carrack House.
He skipped the last steps and came to a swirling halt. He laughed to himself at the absurdity of his earlier worries. He had a good feeling about tonight and he couldn’t help believing that Sam would be happy for them if he knew.
He knocked on the door and waited, thrusting his hands deep into his greatcoat. It was high time he bought himself some new clothes, he thought as he looked down at his legs. There was no need to wear a uniform now, unlike during the war when men out of uniform were viewed as cowards and given white feathers. Times had changed. The country was at peace now. He had seen himself as a soldier on a mission — well the mission was ending now and a new beginning was about to start. He lifted his chin proudly, stepped forward and gave the door another knock. He heard footsteps within as his heart began to race with anticipation. The door opened to reveal a man he assumed was Rose’s father, Mr Gribble.
‘She doesn’t want to see you. Clear off.’
Nicholas stared back at him, open-mouthed.
‘I said clear off.’ The door began to close, snapping Nicholas out of his stupor. He barred the door from shutting with his hand.
‘I don’t understand.’ He braced his elbow against another stronger attempt by Rose’s father to shut the door on him. ‘Mr Gribble. Please. Why doesn’t she want to see me? Is Rose unwell?’
‘I told you. She doesn’t want to see you again. Now get off my doorstep or you’ll feel a broom on your back.’
Nicholas thrust his foot between the door and the threshold. Rose had hinted at her poor relationship with her parents and his concern for her grew.
‘I will not leave until I know Rose is well.’
They stared at one another. He was taller than her father by at least four inches and was far fitter should he need to use force. He didn’t want to barge Rose’s father aside, but he would if it was called for. Mr Gribble stood his ground. He looked as if he had experienced a few brawls in his time and was not adverse to another, but he also lacked the benefit of youth and Nicholas could see him working out his chances in his mind. His hold on the door relaxed, as he realised he was no match for the soldier. Nicholas was about to step in when Rose slipped between them.
She stared at the ground and refused to meet his eyes, but her tone was clear and confident. ‘I want you to leave. Do not call on me again.’
