Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
C aroline tapped her forefinger against her lips, staring at the grandfather clock as it ticked by. She was still waiting for confirmation from the solicitor about whether her dinner idea would satisfy the demands of the will, but she did so love to host a party, and she couldn’t help considering all the particulars.
Of the locals, thus far she had reaffirmed her acquaintance with a countess, a baroness, and a handful of wealthy ladies she knew from town that were just about her equal. With their spouses, it was a perfect sized number for the sort of event she wanted to host. She had already decided on what the menu would be, sufficiently lavish while not requiring an inordinate amount of funds, with all the appropriate holiday meats and puddings.
The last thing she would have to consider was the décor. The estate had more than enough candles that would suffice, and she would have to work with Mrs. Park to arrange the centerpieces. But how much greenery did she want on display? Though flowers would be limited during wintertime, there were certain plants that would be requisite at such a holiday party. She had considered bringing in an evergreen tree like the royal family had done in previous years, but perhaps she would stick with holly and ivy instead. However, her thoughts came to an immediate halt at the idea of mistletoe.
Only one person came to mind, one that she had to adamantly shove from her thoughts. But perhaps it would not matter as much, since he would not be present. A rural doctor certainly did not meet her criteria for the event, and what sort of compatibility would he have with her other guests if she invited him?
Not that he would ever accept.
A knock sounded at the study door, and Mrs. Park appeared. “The girls are here again to practice the pianoforte.”
Caroline huffed. “Just how often do these practices take place?”
“Multiple times throughout the week, I suppose.”
Pressing her lips together, Caroline bit her tongue. She had told Fred it would be fine, only she didn’t know the frequency. Would she be tormented by youthful fingers and clanging musical errors throughout her stay? It might not be worth it after all.
Deciding to make up her mind herself, Caroline stood from the desk and lifted her chin. “I will see them in myself.”
“Shall we light the fireplace in the music room?” Mrs. Park asked.
Caroline sighed. “Yes, I suppose. But we are not warming the entire house. I have no intention of wasting firewood.”
Then off she went. As Caroline rounded into the corridor, she found the two young girls, nearly ladies really, standing close and whispering together, again standing next to Fred. He gave her a haphazard smile, likely his attempt at charm before an oncoming apology. And yet, Caroline noted one man absent who had joined them previously.
Both girls went quiet and pulled their average looking skirts in quaint curtsies.
“Good morning, Aunt Caroline,” said the one named Kitty, bright eyed and bushy tailed as her name would suggest. Excessively chipper, just like her father.
And yet, something about the declaration made her chest tight, her throat running dry. Caroline cleared her throat. “Mrs. Marley will do, if you please. What brings you here today?”
“We’ve come to continue our piano practice, if you have no objection,” said the one named Martha. The one who examined her with Robert’s icy blue eyes as if she knew all of Caroline’s secrets.
Caroline’s eyes shot to Fred, who remained silent and gave her a shrug, letting the girls handle the negotiations themselves.
“Have you no instrument of your own to practice on?” Caroline asked.
“Oh no,” Kitty said with a dramatic shake of her head. “The chapel is locked up during the week, and we’re much too poor to have such a nice thing like a pianoforte in our little quarters.”
How irksome, not only to have a family that was nearly destitute, but also that Robert’s family had the same struggle. Should Fred not use the money Aunt Fanny left him to elevate their standing, provide finer things for his girls? There was very little keeping Caroline from spending the necessary money and buying both houses a pianoforte from London, and maybe a few finer dresses as well, but those thoughts were dismissed easily enough. “Very well, you may have the half hour.”
The girls both curtsied again, and hurried down the corridor, hand in hand.
“A moment, Caroline,” Fred asked, his hands clasped behind his back.
Caroline pressed her lips together, turning to face her brother with raised eyebrows.
“I only wanted to apologize for the little tiff on Sunday. I did not intend to offend you, only to explain.”
“I as well,” she responded. “I was not offended, I only wanted to make sure you did not waste your time on my account.”
His eyes watched her carefully. “It is not a waste to try and secure my only sister’s happiness.”
“Oh, tut. Don’t be ridiculous, Fred. For I am plenty…” But the words died on her tongue. Caroline Marley was known in London for being many things—beautiful, charming, wealthy, confident, proud—but interestingly, happy was not one of them. She used to think that happiness would naturally follow once all the wealth and connections had been acquired, yet somehow, it still evaded her.
Caroline cleared her throat. “That is to say, I will continue to live as I see fit.”
Fred nodded. “And I will continue to speak on the subject that my parish most needs to hear.”
“Very well,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
He caught her hand gently before she could turn away. “I do not wish for us to be enemies. I do not want to be a stranger in your life. Is there any way for us to be family once more?”
Fred’s tender pleading did not fall on a frozen heart, for she had felt that yearning before as well, but it had been many years. He could not understand that she needed more than could be found in little Hamstead.
“There might not be time for such things before I return to London,” she said, patting his hand before walking toward the door, with Fred following quietly behind.
The girls were talking animatedly by the pianoforte before looking up at her entrance. “Are you coming in to listen, Aunt Caroline?” Kitty asked.
There would be no breaking her niece of the habit. She had probably been inundated with stories about ‘Aunt Caroline’ from her father. “I am coming to discern if all this time spent in practice has done you any good and will be worth my time going forward.”
Caroline took a seat on the chaise lounge and looked around the room. She had not stepped inside since she was a child, for she herself had also learned to play the pianoforte in this room. Her father had not wanted such noise in their house, so he sent her over to her aunt’s instead. And now the next generation was continuing the tradition, though for very different reasons, it would seem. And of all the traits Caroline had acquired from her father, her love of music could not have been more opposite.
Surrounded by beautiful statues, picturesque paintings, and countless collections of music, all interspersed between various musical instruments. Not just the pianoforte, but also a viola, a flute, and a harp. There could be a great orchestra of song created in this room.
Only she would not be present to hear it. In just a few weeks, she would be gone from this place forever, selling her childhood memories for the highest price.
Caroline swallowed with difficulty, and she shivered. The room had not quite warmed yet from the new fire, and she felt a sliver of guilt that the girls had to play with frozen fingers.
Clearing her throat, she motioned to get the attention of the footman. “Have Mrs. Park bring tea to the music room.”
Kitty was the first to take her seat at the pianoforte, Fred moving to her side as a ready assistant. She started to play, the twelve-year-old girl that she was, and Caroline was pleasantly surprised. Her niece would not be performing in public for some years yet, but even if she did, it would have been a worthy performance.
Mrs. Park entered the room with a tea tray, so Caroline poured a cup herself and continued listening, careful to keep her expression neutral. She couldn’t let the girls know if they were passing her judgment or not. At least, not yet. And she did not know what she could possibly say to Martha. She was a child, but she was also Robert’s child.
When Kitty’s song came to an end, Martha clapped, obviously pleased with her friend. Then they swapped places, Martha taking her seat at the pianoforte and Fred helping her with the choice of music. She picked a different piece, but again, she played with a proficiency that surprised Caroline. And she was even younger.
“How old is Martha?” Caroline asked quietly, so as not to disturb the playing.
Kitty looked up, as if surprised to be addressed. “Martha is ten years old. She might be younger than me, but she is the better of us. And she’s the one who came to me for practice today.”
“I see.” Caroline took a sip of her tea casually, mentally calculating the years back. So it had taken Robert no less than two years to find a suitable wife and father a child. Caroline could not be bitter, for she was the one who had dismissed him. She was the one who had been married within a month of her eighteenth birthday. It had been her choice, as she knew she could never marry a pauper, but her mind returned to Fred’s question: had she been happy?
Her thoughts flooded with an immediate and resounding No . And this left her properly disturbed. But had Robert been happy?
Norman entered the room with a silver tray, shaking Caroline from her thoughts. “A letter from Mr. Eddleton, mum.”
“Ah! Excellent,” she said, reaching for the post. Only it was not small, this correspondence, which she had expected of his response, but a large, weighty letter. What could he possibly have to say on the matter?
“Please, excuse me,” Caroline said to no one in particular, seeing herself to the drawing room to read the letter alone.
Upon unfolding it, another letter tumbled into her lap, and she found that Mr. Eddleton’s response was indeed, quite short.
Dear Mrs. Marley,
Thank you for your letter, and for accepting responsibility of the Christmas party. As to your inquiry, while I believe your aunt intended for you to host a ball the same way she always did, because there is no such direction explicitly stated in the will, you are not legally obligated to do so and may host a Christmas dinner however you see fit.
Because you have accepted her wishes, I must follow through with my responsibility and leave you one final letter from your aunt. She only wanted you to have this if you decided to accept, and therefore I have included it in this post. I was not privy to its contents, but should you have any further questions, I remain at your service.
Sincerely,
Mr. M. Eddleton
Caroline’s jaw dropped open as she eyed the letter in her lap. Her final words from Aunt Fanny were not the snarky direction in the will, but here, waiting for her, separately, secretly. As a ghost speaking from the grave. She clenched her jaw and swallowed with difficulty, wondering what she could possibly need to say further.
Placing Mr. Eddleton’s letter on the side table, Caroline inhaled deeply and broke the wax seal on Aunt Fanny’s letter. Written in a familiar scripty hand, Caroline’s eyes devoured the contents:
My dear girl,
I know you are no longer a girl, but a woman with means and wealth of your own. You have already experienced much of life, both the more pleasant things and the difficult bits. But if you are reading this letter, that means you have accepted my desire to host this Christmas ball, and there is still hope for you yet.
I will start by saying I always loved you. I may have seemed harsh or strict in your eyes over the years, but I only hoped to spare you the same sorrow as your parents. Even though my brother had his flaws, I loved him till the end. Just as I love you. But you are not destined to become the sort of person your father was, or who your mother was. Nor will you become the same as your brother, or as me. You are a beautiful, wonderful person of your own, and you have a powerful character to make a great change in this world if you wish. I only wanted for you to see that realized, and to be happy for the rest of your days.
I hope that by staying to host the Christmas ball, you will spend some time in Hamstead reacquainting yourself with your past, and with the people here who care about you. You think your future happiness is in London, but you cannot be truly happy anywhere without first reconciling who you are. Your past plays an important part in that and will help you find balance in your present troubles, and in your future endeavors, so pray, do not squander your time.
I will leave you with this final thought. Contrary to what your parents believed, happiness is not found in having, and sitting idly amongst things. Happiness is found in giving. To give is to care and to love, and it is the greatest opportunity we mortals have in this life, though some never truly experience it. Do not lose your chance; seize it before it is too late.
Your favorite aunt,
Fanny Browning
Caroline sighed. Aunt Fanny was as diligent as Fred in trying to convince Caroline to stay. She did not understand their great love for the countryside, or their misguided belief that everything wrong with her life could be fixed in Hamstead. Such a notion made her want to roll her eyes and dismiss the letter by tossing it in the fire, as was her habit. But something stayed her hand.
There was no denying a certain burn in her chest, which could not be attributed to a mere undigested bit of beef or a crumb of cheese. Perhaps there was some truth to Aunt Fanny’s haunting words of caution. Over the years, Caroline had always felt a quiet tickle in the back of her mind, an unsettling reminder that she had unfinished business in Hamstead. If she were to throw the Christmas party and return to London, she would then have no reason to return to Hamstead in the future, so perhaps it would be best to tie up all her loose ends for good.
Putting on her Christmas dinner wouldn’t change anything, but a moment’s introspection made her wonder what precisely from her past could need repairing. Aunt Fanny had mentioned her parents, both of whom were dead and gone. She had listed Fred, and nameless others in the village who supposedly loved her. Caroline’s mind immediately turned to Robert, but there was nothing she could do to resolve things with him. And just what did Aunt Fanny think Caroline’s present troubles consisted of? For her only current burden was that of staying in Hamstead.
It all came down to mere curiosity. Caroline would put on her dinner, and casually make an effort to do as Aunt Fanny instructed, just to see if anything would come from it. Perhaps it would help remove any remaining connections to Hamstead for good.