The Frozen Lake: A gripping novel of family and wartime secrets. Elizabeth Edmondson

      ‘You mind your tongue, Ursula.’ Nanny fastened the last of the buttons and Ursula straightened herself.

      ‘Five minutes to tell me the news,’ Nanny said. And then, to Hal, ‘I don’t get about so much these days. Ursula acts as my eyes and ears.’

      ‘Well, Nanny, the ice is bearing,’ said Ursula, sitting down on a pouffe that gave out a whistling sound as she sank into it. ‘That’s the most important thing. There’ll be skating all across the lake before the weekend’s out, that’s what they say.’

      Hal propped himself against a tallboy, too big for the room, an item of furniture that he guessed Nanny had appropriated from some other part of the house. Ursula had Delia’s colouring as well as her mother’s features and voice: hair the colour of a copper scuttle, intense blue eyes in a pale face. She even had Delia’s hands, he noticed, as she tucked a lock of her straight hair behind an ear.

      He couldn’t keep up with her flow of news. The people she was talking about were strangers for the most part. Until she told Nanny the news from Wyncrag. ‘Perdy’s back, she got back from school last night. Late for dinner, and Lady Richardson ripping her up, saying she shouldn’t be out in a car with Edwin. Her brother, I ask you, why not?’

      ‘Lady Richardson has her reasons,’ Nanny said. ‘Has Alix arrived yet?’

      ‘Oh, yes, she came by train, the same train you must have come on today, Uncle Hal. If she’d waited a day, you could have travelled up together. Although you might not have recognised her after all this time. She’s looking fearfully smart, apparently, Nanny. Lady R’s as stiff as a poker with her, and Perdy’s already in trouble.’

      ‘What has Perdy done?’ Nanny asked.

      ‘Grown.’

      ‘Do enlighten me,’ he said. ‘Who is Perdy?’

      ‘Perdita Richardson,’ Nanny said. ‘Since your time. You should remember, I told you all about her in my letters. Helena’s youngest, born just before Helena and Isabel were killed in America. In a car smash, such a terrible tragedy. You do remember that, surely? It wasn’t long after you’d gone away.’

      ‘Yes.’ He had written to Lady Richardson, and had received a brief, terse letter thanking him for his condolences. ‘She must have been shattered, losing her son so soon before, and then her daughter-in-law.’

      Nanny’s face took on a tight, thin-lipped look, one he remembered so well from his childhood, the face that said, ‘So far and no further; not another word do I have to say upon this subject.’

       FOURTEEN

      ‘Another foul evening,’ Ursula wrote in her journal that night. ‘No one except Aunt Angela is pleased to see Uncle Hal, it must be horrid for him to come home and find he’s about as welcome as a stray dog. I knew Eve was going to be at her sniffiest with him, she was moaning on to Daddy about what a nuisance it was Hal deciding to pay a visit just now, with Rosalind on the verge of her coming out and not needing to be associated with any doubtful characters. Any more doubtful characters, she means, since she feels that Mummy casts a cloud of unrespectability over the household and that it’s hard on Rosalind to be in any way connected with such a person. I don’t think Uncle Hal has any idea why Daddy wanted him to come to the Hall. I think he’s only come because of the frozen lake, otherwise he’d have stayed away. He’ll wish he had once Daddy and Roger start on him about those shares. They don’t think I know anything about it, in which case they shouldn’t talk so jolly loud. And Eve’s awfully cross that they need Hal’s agreement to make the sale, she’s so snobby about him being an actor. How old-fashioned can you be? Some actors are awfully grand. I don’t suppose Uncle Hal is or we’d have heard about him, but he doesn’t look like a down-and-out to me, which is how Eve seems to regard him. He looks jolly successful in my opinion, like someone who doesn’t give a button what people like Eve say about him. And he’s got a mocking look in his eye, I think he finds the whole situation amusing. I wish I did.’

       FIFTEEN

      Hal walked to Wyncrag after lunch, accompanied part of the way by Angela and Cecy who were going into the village, where Cecy wanted to buy a new pair of skates. It was slow walking on the icy snow, but Hal’s spirits rose as he breathed the cold pure air and looked up at the brilliant peaks set against a winter blue sky. Every stone wall, each field and tree was familiar to him; the years rolled away and he was back in the days of his youth, eager and brimful of expectation and ambition.

      He had been set on becoming a great actor, one of the thespians of his generation, he would stun audiences with his interpretations of classic roles, his Hamlet and Macbeth and Benedict would be the talk of London and he would introduce intelligent and appreciative audiences to the complexities of modern works.

      It hadn’t turned out like that. How many of the dreams we have at twenty do come true? he asked himself, as he followed the well-known path that led to the Wyncrag drive. He wasn’t walking on virgin snow so the two houses obviously kept up their steady relationship, many other feet had trodden this path since the last snowfall. He was looking down at the gritty frozen whiteness out of a reluctance to look up and see in reality what he could see in his mind’s eye: the extraordinary façade of Wyncrag. When he did look up, he surprised himself. It was as he remembered it, but it looked less real than the images he carried in his head. More like a film set than a massive northern pile. A film set for what? A fairy tale, maybe, with all those snowy turrets. Or possibly Hamlet, with a blond prince prowling the battlements of Elsinore, an enclosed world of darkness and secrets.

      ‘Come inside, come inside,’ Sir Henry said, greeting him as though he’d been away for a fortnight rather than fifteen years. ‘We’ll get them to rustle up some coffee for us. I was just wondering whether to put some more grit down on the drive,’ he went on, as they walked together towards the house. ‘You’ve missed my young folk, the twins and Perdita have gone to Manchester. The wheels of the car were slipping when they drove off, that’s why I came out to have a look. Of course, I think of them as your contemporaries and they aren’t, they were no more than children last time you saw them, and you’ll never have seen young Perdy at all.’

      ‘I was extremely sorry to hear about your tragedy,’ Hal said.

      ‘You wrote a very kind letter, that was good of you.’

      ‘I liked Neville and Helena, and to lose both of them in one year … Isabel, too. It was hard.’

      Hard? Was that little thump of a word all he could find to say about such a loss? Sir Henry’s great loss had been Neville, his son, not Helena of course. Helena had never made her father-in-law’s heart sing at the sight of her, had never turned a grey day into a glorious one, had never sent him on his way on winged feet merely by a look, a smile, a turn of the head.

      ‘It was, it was hard,’ Sir Henry was saying. ‘But it’s in the past now, it all happened a good while ago and I don’t think about them much. I wish Neville could have been spared, but it wasn’t to be, and no good comes of repining, he was careless, and you can’t be careless on a precipice.’

      Hal had to search for words to talk about Sir Henry’s eldest son. Why was it so difficult? He’d liked Neville, dammit. Admired him. ‘He was a skilful mountaineer. It’s a dangerous activity, but I should have thought he was the last person to take a risk.’

      ‘Mountains are unforgiving, and I dare say if he had to go, he was happy to die among his beloved mountains. He was lucky to survive the war, but his luck ran out when he went off to the Andes. He’d always wanted to climb there. Well, we all have to live our own lives.’ He was silent as he led Hal around to a side door. ‘We’ll go to my study, you’ll want to see Caroline and Trudie, but they can wait until you’ve