Daughters of Castle Deverill by Santa Montefiore

Author:Santa Montefiore [Montefiore, Santa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471135910
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

Chapter 18

Charlotte awoke to find Harry’s side of the bed empty. She put her hand on his pillow. It was cold. He must have been up for a while. She clenched her fist. He was so distant these days, so aloof. She wondered whether their marriage would ever heal. Sometimes she thought that, after what she had witnessed, it simply couldn’t. She dressed and went downstairs to the dining room where Digby, Celia, Beatrice and Maud were already having breakfast. The room smelt of fried bacon and her stomach gave a gentle rumble, although she didn’t have much of an appetite nowadays.

‘Ah, Charlotte,’ said Digby, smiling at her warmly. ‘I trust you slept well.’

‘Papa, the beds are the best money can buy. Of course she slept well,’ said Celia.

Charlotte glanced around the room for Harry. She had been so consumed by her own unhappiness that she hadn’t given any thought to his. She wondered whether he’d gone out for an early walk in the snow and her heart lurched with remorse. He’d been spending a lot of time on his own lately.

‘Isn’t the snow marvellous!’ said Beatrice.

‘It’s a sign of luck,’ said Celia with a contented sigh. ‘I’m feeling very lucky at the moment. This has been the best Christmas ever and the party we’re going to enjoy on New Year’s Eve will signal a prosperous year for all of us.’

Digby raised an eyebrow. He didn’t think 1930 was going to be a prosperous year for anyone, least of all himself. He shovelled a forkful of egg and toast into his mouth and chewed ponderously. Maud, who could always be relied on to be the voice of doom, added, ‘The country has just suffered the worst financial crisis in history. I can’t imagine anyone is feeling particularly lucky right now, except you, Celia.’

Celia rolled her eyes and was about to say something she’d regret when her mother thankfully came to her defence. ‘I think we are jolly lucky to be here, in this beautiful place, on such a lovely snowy morning. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go for a walk after breakfast to enjoy it.’

There was a brief lull in the conversation as Victoria and Eric wandered in for breakfast, followed by Stoke, who looked as if he had given his sweeping white moustache a good brush. Amid the ‘Good mornings’ and the courteous enquiries after the quality of their sleep, the butler appeared with a note on a tray. He hesitated a moment, unsure of whom to give it to. ‘What is it, O’Sullivan?’ Celia asked.

‘A letter, madam. It was on the table in the hall. But it isn’t addressed to anybody.’

‘Well, bring it here,’ she instructed, waving her white fingers. She opened the envelope and pulled out a little typed card. As she read it her forehead creased in bafflement and her pretty lips pouted. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Darling?’ said Beatrice.

‘No, that’s all it says: I’m sorry,’ said Celia.

‘Well, who’s it from?’ Digby demanded.

Celia turned over the note and then did the same with the envelope.

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