House of Echoes. Barbara Erskine

you married?’ His eyes had travelled thoughtfully to her hands and his gaze rested on her wedding ring.

      ‘As you see.’

      ‘And do you have children?’

      She glanced up. His gaze was steady. She tried to read it and failed. ‘I have a little boy, yes. He’s eighteen months old.’

      He sighed. Standing up he walked round his desk and went to stand at the window, staring down at the sea. There was a long silence.

      ‘It was after I had Tom that I realised I wanted to find out about my real parents,’ she said at last.

      ‘Of course.’ He did not turn round.

      ‘Is that my father – the Philip who is buried in the churchyard at Belheddon?’ she went on after another silence.

      ‘It is.’

      ‘Did you bury him?’

      He nodded slowly.

      ‘What did he die of?’

      ‘He had a riding accident.’ He turned. ‘I liked Philip very much. He was a kind and courageous man. He adored your mother.’

      ‘Was it because of the accident she gave me away?’

      He hesitated. ‘Yes, I think that was part of it, certainly.’ Sitting down behind his desk he leaned forward on his elbows and rubbed his face wearily. ‘Your mother was never very strong physically, although emotionally she was the strongest of us all. After Philip’s death she gave up. There had been two other children before you. They both died before they reached their teens. Then there was a long gap and then you came along. She had already planned to leave. I don’t think she and Philip wanted any more children …’ His voice died away thoughtfully. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but you must have been expecting some tale of woe; why else would a woman of Laura’s background give away her child?’

      ‘I …’ Joss cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I didn’t know anything about her background. Only the address.’

      He nodded. ‘Jocelyn. Once more, can I beg you to forget about all this? For your own sake and the sake of your family don’t embroil yourself in the affairs of the Duncans. You have your own life, your own child. Look forward, not backwards. There is too much unhappiness attached to that house.’ His face lightened as a quiet tap sounded at the door. ‘Come in, Dot!’

      The door opened and the corner of a tray emerged, pushing it back. Mr Gower did not stand up. He was frowning. ‘Come in, my love and join us for tea. Meet Jocelyn Grant.’

      Joss half turned in her chair and smiled at the small, slim woman who had appeared, bent beneath the weight of the tray. Leaping to her feet she reached out to help her. ‘It’s all right, my dear. I’m stronger than I look!’ Dot Gower’s voice was not only strong but also melodious. ‘Sit down, sit down.’ She plonked the tray down in front of her husband where, balanced on top of his papers it sloped alarmingly towards the window. ‘So, shall I pour?’

      ‘Dot,’ Edgar Gower said slowly. ‘Jocelyn is Laura Duncan’s child.’

      Dot Gower’s eyes were, Joss suddenly discovered, as piercing as her husband’s. Disconcerted by the woman’s stare she subsided back into her chair.

      ‘Poor Laura.’ Dot turned after a moment back to her teapot. ‘She would have been so proud of you, my dear. You are very beautiful.’

      Joss felt suddenly very uncomfortable. ‘Thank you. What was she like?’

      ‘Middle height; slim; grey hair, even when she was comparatively young; grey eyes.’ Edgar Gower appraised Joss once more. ‘You don’t have her eyes – or Philip’s. But you do have her build, and I should imagine her hair was like yours once. She was kind, intelligent, humorous – but the deaths of the boys – she never got over that and once Philip had gone …’ He sighed as he reached out to take his tea cup. ‘Thank you, my dear. Jocelyn, please. For your own sake, forget Belheddon. They have all gone. There is nothing there for you.’

      ‘Edgar!’ Dot straightened from the tray and turned on her husband, her face sharp. ‘You promised!’

      ‘Dot. No!’

      They were locked for a moment in some intense silent conflict which Joss didn’t understand. The atmosphere in the room had become tense. Abruptly Edgar slammed down his cup, slopping tea into the saucer and stood up. He strode over to the fireplace. ‘Think, Dot. Think what you are saying …’

      ‘Excuse me,’ Joss said at last. ‘Please. What are you talking about? If this is something to do with me, I think I should know about it.’

      ‘Yes it is.’ Dot’s voice was very firm. ‘Edgar made your mother a solemn promise before she left England and he has to keep it.’

      Edgar’s face was working furiously, reflecting some inner battle as yet unresolved. ‘I promised, but nothing but unhappiness will come of it.’

      ‘Come of what?’ Joss stood up. ‘Please. I obviously have a right to know.’ She was growing afraid. Suddenly she didn’t want to know, but it was too late.

      Edgar took a deep breath. ‘Very well. You are right. I have to abide by Laura’s wishes.’ He sighed again and then, straightening his shoulders, walked back to his desk. ‘In fact, there is nothing very much that I can tell you myself, but I promised her that should you ever come back to Belheddon I would see to it that you were given the address of her solicitors in London. I suspect she has left you something in her will; I know she wrote you a letter the day you were legally adopted. She gave it to John Cornish, her lawyer.’ He reached into a bottom drawer of his desk and after a moment or two riffling through the papers produced a card. He pushed it across the desk towards her.

      ‘But why didn’t you want me to know about it?’ Joss looked at him in confusion. ‘Why did you feel I shouldn’t know?’ A jolt of excitement had shot through her. She clutched the card tightly. A glance had shown her it was a large firm of solicitors in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

      ‘Belheddon Hall is an unhappy house, my dear, that’s why. The past is the past. I feel it should be allowed to rest. Your mother felt that way too. That is why she wanted you to have a fresh start.’

      ‘Then why did she write to me?’

      ‘I suspect to comfort herself.’

      Joss looked down at the card. ‘Can I come and see you again after I have seen the solicitors?’

      For a moment she thought he was going to shake his head. A shadow had crossed his face, and something else. Fear. She stared at him aghast, but as quickly as it had appeared the expression had gone. He gave her a grave smile. ‘You may come whenever you wish, my dear. Dot and I will help you in every way we can.’

      It was not until she was out in the rapidly falling dusk and retracing her steps towards the car that she thought again about that remark and wondered what exactly he had meant. Why should she need help – help was the word he had used – and why was he afraid?

       3

      It was very late before she drove at last into the narrow mews in Kensington and backed the car into an impossibly small space near the house. Wearily she climbed out and reached for her front door keys.

      The light was still on in the kitchen at the back. Luke was sitting wedged into the corner behind the small table, staring down at a cup of cold coffee. His tall frame and broad shoulders dwarfed the narrow room; his elbows, spread over a scattering of papers, supported his chin as though he could scarcely lift his head. His normally ruddy complexion was pale.

      ‘Hi, darling!’ She bent and kissed