“Best of luck. I think today is going to be a pretty grim one … and it started off so well,” Dick said firmly, re-lighting his pipe and looking up at the beautiful clear blue sky.
Hardy grimaced. “Good luck with that lot,” he nodded at the crowd outside the gates. “I hope you have the back entrance covered too.”
“I’ve sent Griffiths and Brown down there. I don’t think anyone will want to tangle with them,” he grinned.
Hardy grinned back. “I think you’re right there.” Both gardeners were well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and together would look pretty intimidating.
He started the car and drove swiftly down the drive. This had to be the end for the Duchess. His Grace couldn’t possibly carry on as if nothing had happened and she would surely receive her marching orders. If she did, Hardy certainly wouldn’t be sorry. He had never taken to her, not from the moment she stepped over the threshold of Canleigh Hall all those years ago and looked him up and down as if he was something nasty she might step in. Over the years, her manner hadn’t improved. None of the staff liked her. She found fault with everything, was arrogant and bad mannered and Hardy could never understand why the Duke had ever married such a woman. He deserved far better. The Lady Dulcia Fitzhaven, for instance, would have made a grand Duchess of Canleigh. When they were younger, she and His Grace had been quite friendly and Hardy knew the Dowager would have been very happy to see Lady Dulcia follow in her footsteps. Unfortunately, she met a French Marquis, married him within weeks and was now the chatelaine of a rather grand looking chateau in the Loire Valley.
Then Charles met Margaret and brought her home to Canleigh. Not many had taken to her, Hardy being one of them, hoping fervently that Charles wouldn’t regret his decision to marry her. He rubbed his brow in anguish. Without doubt that time had come. He felt so angry, so disappointed and so sad for his employer, the children and the Dowager. This was going to affect the whole family very badly. Damn the woman! At that moment, Hardy could cheerfully have murdered her.
CHAPTER 7 YORKSHIRE - JUNE 1964
Just after Hardy had driven Delia to school, Charles had settled at his desk in the library, intending to spend a few hours correcting some of the errors in a chapter he had written the previous evening. His whole body was relaxed after swimming forty lengths in the pool but his mind was sharp and he was eager to crack on. He didn’t expect his mother to put in an appearance as he knew she had spent the previous evening at one of her charity meetings and would probably want to rest this morning but half an hour later it was with great surprise that he looked up to see her enter the library via the French windows. He looked at her worriedly. He knew she loved the walk from the Dower House situated on the opposite side of the lake but there was a long incline up to the stables, and then the Hall, and in Anne’s present state of health it had obviously proved to be longer and more exhausting than she had anticipated.
She entered the library, leaving the dogs on the terrace to drink water from the bowls left out for them, and sat on the sofa by the fireplace, out of breath and hardly able to speak for a few moments. Charles ceased hitting the keys on his Olivetti typewriter and quickly twirled the volume knob on his stereo down to zero, instantly silencing the exquisite sound of Mozart’s 33rd symphony. He was appalled at the sight of his mother looking so physically drained and debated on whether or not to ring Dr. Arnold. Anne, guessing his intention, stalled him neatly.
“No, Charles. I do not need a doctor. Just a little brandy if you please.”
“Mother, you are incorrigible!” Charles exclaimed, echoing his daughter’s earlier words. “You know you’re not allowed any alcohol for a while. You can have tea.” He pulled the bell pull by the fireplace. “And you should never have walked up here if you’re feeling off colour. Why on earth didn’t you wait for Hardy to return from dropping Delia? He would have collected you in the car.”
“Oh, don’t fuss, Charles. I needed the air, and the rhododendrons and azaleas look so splendid and as their beauty is so short-lived I didn’t want to miss them. Hardy can drive me home if that will make you feel better.”
“It certainly will. Ah, Betty,” he exclaimed as Mrs. Hardy entered the room. “Please could we have some tea? Would you like anything to eat, Mother?”
“No, thank you,” Anne smiled at Betty. “Burgess is preparing a rather nice lunch and I don’t want to spoil my appetite. It’s poor enough these days without making it any worse.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” Betty smiled at them both and left the room, shutting the heavy mahogany door behind her quietly.
Charles looked at Anne. “Mother, I know Mrs. Burgess looks after you admirably but I would feel much happier if you could both move back here for a few weeks, so we can all keep an eye on you. You won’t have to do a thing. The Hardy’s and Mrs. Burgess will arrange it.”
Charles knew Hardy, and his estimable wife, Betty, would make the transition back to the house as smooth as possible. Mrs. Burgess, one of the most reliable and down to earth people Charles knew, who had been hired to housekeep for Anne when she had moved into the Dower House after his marriage to Margaret, would probably also be eager for Anne to return to the Hall temporarily and
