Bleeding Heart Square

‘I call that a very generous offer, dear,’ Lady Cassington said. ‘She has a very kind heart, I’ve always said that.’

‘But they wouldn’t tell me why.’

‘It speaks for itself, surely.’

Lydia laughed. ‘That depends what you think it says. It seemed to me that something must have happened. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it must have been something on Thursday afternoon at Rawling, when Mrs Alforde went to see Mrs Narton. So I went and asked her. Asked Mrs Narton, I mean.’

Her mother sighed but said nothing.

‘She was in quite a state,’ Lydia went on. ‘Did I mention that they think Mr Narton shot himself? That must have made it even worse for her, mustn’t it?’

‘Did he leave a note?’

‘Yes, but Mrs Narton burned it. No one else saw it.’

‘How very wrong of her,’ Lady Cassington said.

‘When she was a girl, Serridge seduced her. She was very young — she had just gone into service at Rawling Hall.’ Lydia paused, watching her mother. ‘Serridge told Mr Narton about it just before he killed himself. He didn’t know, you see. Serridge told Narton that he had seduced his wife as well as his daughter. That’s what the note said.’

‘It seems very strange Mrs Narton should tell you. She’s never even met you.’

‘She knew who I was, even so. She said she’d known who I was as soon as she saw me at the funeral. She said it was something about the eyes and the shape of the mouth. And then she asked Mrs Alforde, just to make sure.’

‘Good Lord,’ her mother said. ‘I’ve always said you and I are quite alike from some angles. Something to do with the cheekbones, perhaps. But it’s funny to think of a servant remembering me after all those years.’

‘Almost exactly thirty years. It was the Christmas of 1904. Serridge had been hired as a beater for the shooting. You can guess who recommended him for the job. And he was enjoying himself with Mrs Narton, not that she was married then, of course. But then he got more interested in one of the guests at the Hall, a schoolgirl. Mrs Narton said she was a scrap of a thing but very pretty and very keen on Serridge. That was it as far as Mrs Narton was concerned. He just dropped her. Naturally she was jealous, and used to watch him like a hawk when she could. And the girl. So she wasn’t surprised when she heard the girl was pregnant. Serve her right, she said. But of course the family covered it up. They married the girl off to Mrs Alforde’s nephew, the Captain. So that’s why something about my face reminded Margaret Narton of Joseph Serridge when he was a young man.’

There was silence in the big, warm bedroom with its smells of perfume, coffee and Virginia tobacco. Lydia heard Margaret Narton’s voice: That’s how they do it, folk like that — they take their pleasures and they make other people pay for them. And you keep on paying, don’t you? That’s what I felt when Serridge came sniffing around our Amy. He broke my heart, and then he broke hers, and that broke mine all over again but far worse than the first time. Then Amy died, and the baby too.

Lady Cassington stood up and went over to the bedside table. She took another cigarette, lit it and sat on the edge of the bed. As she blew out smoke, she asked, ‘Have you finished, darling?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Do be sensible. It wouldn’t have made it better if I had. Not for me. And certainly not for you. It was just one of those silly things that happen when one’s young. And marrying Willy Ingleby-Lewis was the best way to deal with it. If you ask me, people talk too much.’

‘So Serridge really is my father? You admit it?’

Her mother shrugged bony shoulders. ‘That Narton woman’s right. There is a likeness if you look for it.’ She ground out the cigarette in the ashtray. ‘He was very good-looking then, you know, and very charming when he wanted to be.’

‘What would you do if I told Fin?’

‘Darling, now don’t be so absurd. It would be too Lady Chatterley for words. Have you read the book? It’s quite dreadful, of course, and really rather dull, but it would so upset Fin to have something like that in his own family. Anyway, he’s never done you any harm. Quite the reverse. He’s very fond of you.’

Lydia stared out of the window, wondering whether she would ever again sit in this house she had known for most of her life and look down on Upper Mount Street. One shouldn’t be frightened of change, she told herself, because it was going to happen anyway, whatever one felt about it.

Lady Cassington was pursuing a line of thought of her own. ‘Did you say the Narton woman is only forty-five? She must have been even younger than I was when — when — ’

‘Serridge likes them young,’ Lydia said coldly. She stopped, remembering Rebecca Proctor’s words: He likes the younger ones, madam. It was a moment of illumination, as though someone had come into a dark room and flicked the switch on the wall by the door, allowing Lydia to glimpse a possibility out of the corner of her eye.

Her mother looked curiously at her. ‘What is it, darling?’ ‘Nothing,’ Lydia lied.

‘Nothing at all.’

On her way out of the house, Lydia went into the library to say goodbye to Fin. He was sitting at his desk, an enormous Second Empire piece which he claimed had once been owned by a French duke. He liked to sit there in the mornings, basking in its garish splendour, writing letters, reading the newspaper and pretending to be a man of affairs.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ Lydia said.

‘Are you going already? I hoped you’d be staying to lunch.’

‘Not today, I’m afraid. Will you give my love to Pammy?’

‘Of course.’ He screwed up his eyes and looked at her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes and no.’

‘Anything I can do?’

She shook her head. ‘I want to tell you myself: I’m divorcing Marcus.’

‘Your mother won’t like that. I suppose there’s no chance-’

‘No, darling,’ Lydia said. ‘Not the slightest. It’s all right, though — you needn’t worry.’ She bent down and kissed him. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

At the door, she turned back. ‘By the way, I went to a Fascist meeting on Saturday.’

‘Really?’ His face brightened at the change of subject towards the comfort of the impersonal. ‘Was it interesting?’

‘Absolutely fascinating. What I hadn’t realized is what unpleasant people the Fascists are. They’re bullies, Fin. Perhaps that’s why they appeal to Marcus and Rex.’

He frowned. The doorbell rang. She smiled at him again and went into the hall, where Fripp was already at the door, holding it open for Marcus. He was wearing a patch over one eye and there was a dressing underneath the other. One side of his face was badly bruised. When he saw Lydia, the skin around the bruises lost its colour, giving his face a mottled appearance.

‘Hello,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m just going. Fripp, will you bring me my things?’

‘Lydia,’ Marcus blurted out, careless of the fact that he was within earshot of Fripp. ‘I had a letter from some damn-fool solicitor this morning. He claims he’s-’

‘You’re to leave Mr Wentwood alone, Marcus. Do you understand?’

‘You can’t expect me to-’

‘I don’t want to talk to you, Marcus. Go and see my mother. She’ll tell you what to do. And she’ll also tell you what I shall do if you don’t cooperate.’

Fripp, his face impassive, held up her coat. She pushed her arms into the sleeves.

‘Where are you going?’ Marcus demanded.

‘I’m going to enjoy myself,’ Lydia said.

It did not take Rory long to assemble his belongings. He took them downstairs and stacked them in the hall, then knocked on Mrs Renton’s door and paid what he owed for the sewing she had done.

‘I’m sorry you’re going, Mr Wentwood,’ she said. ‘But if you’re not happy somewhere, I always say it’s wise to move on, and sooner rather than later. Mr Fimberry’s leaving too. Father Bertram has found him somewhere else to live.’ She looked up at him with a sudden, searching glance. ‘I wonder how long Mrs Langstone will stay.’