Edward winced. “I’m not sure Isabelle…”
“Ignore my mother,” Mum said, waving a hand. “The rest of us do. Come on.” She looked over at me. “Kia, Therese is in the sitting room. Do try and get her to come up for breakfast, won’t you?” She paused and then, unexpectedly, she folded me into her arms. “Oh, Kia. He loved you so much, you know.” She sniffed, and I realised my cheek was damp with her tears.
She pulled back, and wiped her eyes. Then, with a kiss on the cheek for me, she dragged Edward back into the cold morning air and left me alone with my great-aunt.
“Therese?” I let myself into the sitting room, and found her sitting in a hard-backed armchair beside the window, looking out at the flowers. Even though it was August she was wrapped up in a thick, woolly cardigan and had her slippers on. For the first time ever that I’d seen, she had no make-up on, and her clothes looked shapeless and thoughtless under her cardigan – no sign of her usual nipped-in waist and fifties’ style.
She looked old, I realised. Or at least, older than she had when I’d left, the previous day.
Therese looked up as I came in, and gave me a watery smile. “Kia, darling. So lovely to see you again, even under such tragic circumstances.”
She didn’t seem hysterical, or losing it like Isabelle had. Therese just seemed incredibly sad. Like all the life and spirit had flown out of her with her brother’s death.
I slid into the chair opposite her, displacing a number of tiny throw cushions. “Mum wanted me to bring you up to the house for breakfast.” Like you do every time Dad’s making a fry-up, I thought but didn’t add. Clearly there was something going on here, too – and I wasn’t sure it was just grief. Not after everything I’d seen up at the house.
Therese shook her head slowly from side to side. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, dear,” she said, her voice wobbling. “After all…better to wait until my position here is clear, I think.”
“Your position?” I asked, because I’d had a very long couple of days and really didn’t have the energy to try and riddle it out for myself.
“Of course.” Therese turned her attention to the landscape outside the window again. “I came here as my brother’s guest, after all. And with Nathaniel gone…”
Which was all a little too much destitute Victorian widow for me. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Isabelle’s not going to throw you out! You’re part of the family.”
“Your family, certainly.” Therese sighed again. “But Isabelle never really wanted me here, you know.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said, despite having a suspicion it probably was. Still, Isabelle might roll her eyes when Nathaniel and Therese were sharing some sort of secret joke or memory, and the two women did have a tendency to snipe at each other, or make comments behind the other’s backs. But that wasn’t the same as throwing someone out of their home. “Has she said something? Did something happen?”
“Not yet. But she will,” Therese said, ominously. “I’ve known her for more than fifty years, remember. I know that woman. I know what she’ll do.”
How had Rosewood changed so dramatically in just a day? Nathaniel had been gone for twenty-four hours, and already we were falling apart. And somehow, it seemed to be my job to pull us back together again.
“Well, she hasn’t done any of it yet,” I said, leaning over to help her up from her chair. “And besides, she’s far more likely to toss Edward out on his ear than you, particularly today.”
Therese brightened a little. “That’s true.”
Time to push my advantage. “Dad’s making full English for everyone. There’s probably black pudding.”
“It is a time to be with family,” Therese conceded.
“Excellent! Then let’s go.”
Breakfast was a stilted affair, during which we all took the time to savour the sausages, rather than actually talking about anything. It wasn’t until we were clearing up that Mum leant over to me and said, “Pat’s coming this afternoon, to read the will. Wants to get things sorted as soon as possible, he said.” I wondered if Edward had helped speed things along with a begging phone call, or if Nathaniel had primed his lawyer to get in as soon as possible to try and forestall a nervous breakdown by Isabelle. He seemed to have predicted the chaos that had descended after his death better than anyone else.
No one lingered over coffee after breakfast. Instead, with a mug in hand, I made my way up the stairs and along to the Yellow Room, to unpack the clothes I’d so recently put back in my case.
It wasn’t much of a surprise to find Edward loitering on the landing. “Did you hear?” I asked, as I drew close. “Pat Norris will be here later today.”
Edward nodded. “One good thing, at least; that part will be over soon.” He leant against the railing that surrounded the stairs, and I rested myself against my bedroom door. Somehow it was safer talking to Edward in the communal spaces, rather than in private, I realised. “Then, if your grandmother still wants me to leave, I can do so with a clear conscience.” I frowned at the idea. Rosewood was coming apart at the seams. I couldn’t help but feel that the moment the first person left, it would start an exodus. Mum and Dad would go home to Manchester – they’d only come to stay for a couple of weeks to help with the Golden Wedding, after all. They’d take Caro with them. And Therese…would Isabelle really kick her out? Could she, even? Maybe we’d find out in the will. Ellie and Greg…they lived here now, but would they always? Surely they’d want their own place eventually. And I had to go back to Perth, to my job, my real life, sooner or later.
What if Isabelle was left alone here, rattling around an empty house, looking for echoes of her dead husband? I shuddered, just thinking about it.
And it all started with Edward leaving. Suddenly, it seemed vitally important to keep everyone there, at Rosewood, until things were mended.
Except, how could they be? Nathaniel was dead.
Maybe it would be best for Isabelle to simply sell the house and never look back.
“I suppose there’s not much reason for you to stay,” I said, thinking about all the real-world things like friends and work
and family that he must have put on hold in order to set up camp at Rosewood for eighteen months. He’d told me he’d run out on everything. Maybe he was thinking it was time for him to be going back. And who could blame him?
But Edward gave me a strange, assessing look in return and said, “Well, maybe there might be some.”
And I, because I am a fool, flattered myself into thinking he might mean me.
I wanted to say something, make some reference to how we’d left things between us. We’d said goodbye – quite firmly and finally. I’d hardly expected to see him again ever – let alone the next day. And yet, here we were, the awkwardness of our abortive night in the attic lying between us, and the only thing holding us together the death of my favourite person in the world.
I should say something, I knew. But instead, when I opened my mouth, I just yawned.
Edward gave me a small, half smile as I covered my mouth. “The sleeper train wasn’t so good for sleeping, then?”
I shook my head. “It was freezing. And uncomfortable. Besides…I don’t think I could have slept, wherever I was.” I’d been lucky; my seats had been at least a little way apart from the other, sleeping passengers. I hoped that no one had been kept awake by my sobbing, at least. I wrapped my arms around my middle. “I still can’t get warm.”
“You’re exhausted,” Edward said, as I yawned again. “And reality is setting in now you’re here. You need to rest.”
“I can’t. I just need another cup of coffee, and to unpack, and I’ll get back down there and deal with Isabelle, and everything.”
But Edward was already steering me through the doorway of the Yellow Room, his hand warm on my elbow. “You need to sleep. Don’t worry about the rest of them. I’ll deal with them.”
You shouldn’t have to, I wanted to say, they’re my family. But all that came out was another yawn. With gentle fingers, Edward stripped my cardigan from my shoulders, and slipped my feet from my shoes. Then he pulled back the bedcovers.