Chapter Twenty-Four

They were in the garden together when Tom wandered back from the wine bar looking smug and unravelled. Kate rolled her eyes and offered him the last beer as a bribe not to tell her what he had done with Jenna.

‘Have you had a good evening yourself?' he asked as he settled on the wall.

Kate opened her mouth to say yes, they had, thanks, but Theo answered first.

‘I didn't know Kate was such a good dancer,' he said. ‘She's shown me some ballet moves and had a little swim as well.' He cast a glance at her, his eyes warm and teasing.

Tom laughed. ‘Come on, Theo, you should know by now that she's not the angel she pretends to be. She'll have been showing off again. Grand jetés and pirouettes was it? And you haven't seen them before?'

‘Of course he hasn't seen them before! I've never had the opportunity to show him.'

‘It does feel like I've known her ages, but really, she's right,' added Theo. ‘We only met a couple of times before this weekend and ballet's never really factored into it.' He looked down at her and she tried to read his face then gave up. She could read any amount of things in his eyes — his quite perfect eyes. It was scary what she could read in them, to be honest.

‘Then you're lucky you've escaped her showing-off for this long.' Tom raised the bottle at Kate and winked, then he smoothly moved the conversation on to horses, drawing Theo into it, quite naturally, as if they too had known each other for years.

For decades.

For more than a century?

She shivered.

Maybe they had.

* * *

Monday

Thanks to all the wine and the beer and the heat, Kate went straight to sleep and she didn't budge all night long. She couldn't recall any odd dreams the next day when she woke. Instead, she listened sleepily to the early morning creaks and groans of the old cottages, their usual greeting to each other; a bunch of old friends waking up and stretching and nodding good morning.

There was a steady snoring coming through the bedroom wall; her brother, of course. They'd both walked Theo halfway back to the campsite and subsequently fell into bed shattered. She wondered if Tom would try to beat a hasty retreat before Jenna wandered in, but she had a feeling they'd just greet each other warmly and move on. It was a skill Kate thought they both possessed. The idea of Tom with a woman brought her mind back to Millie and her love for Charles.

After that, Kate couldn't sleep any more. She needed to get to that Hall and she needed to do something. But first, she went over to her computer and pulled up the website she had found the 1885 newspaper on. She pressed a few buttons and found a ‘search' facility; then typed in the name SS Victoria .

Almost immediately, the digitised image of the local newspaper came up, and she knew without a doubt it was the one Cat's uncle had received that awful day. She read the article quickly, scanning it for a description of any survivors, hoping that Charles and Cat's uncle had simply misinterpreted it. But it was there, in faintly pixelated black and white: a passenger list from the doomed vessel, which sank, according the paper, on 5thJuly, 1885. And one name stood out beyond the rest: William Haddon . Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away quickly. It wouldn't do for Tom to see her sobbing over breakfast. She took a last look at the image and touched the screen gently with her forefinger, tracing his name, before closing the laptop down. It had happened then. It was real.

Tom trailed into the kitchen as she was boiling up the kettle for her second coffee, by which time she felt a little more human and was more in control of her emotions.

‘Good night, Katie?' Her brother leaned against the bench as she grabbed another cup down from the cupboard for him.

‘Not too bad. Sleep well?'

Tom nodded and yawned. ‘It's all the exercise.' He winked. ‘Not used to it.'

‘Yes, you are.' She filled his cup up and pushed it across the bench to him.

‘Jenna's a fun girl,' he said, justifying it. ‘We had a laugh.'

‘I bet that's not all you had — no! I don't want to hear it.' Kate cringed at the thought.

She sat down and studied him. He was a good-looking man. He had the height and the broad shoulders of their father, but the big brown eyes of their mother. It was a good combination on him.

‘Tom, why don't you ever find a nice girl and stick with her?'

Tom slipped into the seat opposite and put his cup down. He gripped it with both hands and stared into the muddy depths. Her brother wasn't a milky beverage type of guy; the murkier the better for him.

But he at least had the grace to look abashed. ‘I'm starting to think that ship sailed,' he said, talking to the coffee cup. ‘Far too long ago. I doubt it'll happen again.'

‘Oh?' This was news to Kate. ‘Tell me more.'

Tom shook his head. ‘No. I'd rather not, thanks.' He looked up and stared straight into her eyes. It unsettled her a bit. She wasn't used to his direct gaze.

‘What?' she asked, quailing beneath it.

Tom smiled a little and shrugged. ‘No. It's not for me to tell you.' He looked past her shoulder and stared out of the window, over the river and across to the woods beyond. ‘Just — don't waste too much time Katie. If I had the chance again, well . . .' He shrugged. ‘I wish I'd done it differently.'

Her stomach lurched. ‘Tom,' she began slowly. ‘Is this a conversation we need to have in light of any particular recent events?'

‘Nope,' he said lightly. ‘Not especially.' He looked back at her and grinned, the moment lost; her annoying, wonderful, frustrating brother appearing again. ‘Too many cocktails, too much history in this place. Too much Hartsford air. I'll be fine. I think I need my coffee. What'll I do about locking up?'

He had changed the subject and it threw her. ‘Locking up? You mean the flat?'

He nodded. ‘Yep. I need to leave in a couple of hours. Just wondering what I should do for the best.'

‘Well if Jenna's here, just pull the door closed behind you.' Kate was still confused at the speed he had veered off track. ‘In fact, just do that anyway.'

‘Okay.' He grinned. ‘Oh, and last night — I don't think I told you. Your garden is amazing, little Sis. It's like it's all come out together. You need some more roses though. That would be nice.'

Kate's mind drifted back to the vase of flowers she'd gathered for Cassie; to Millie's dress in the portrait; to the rosebud in Millie's photo album.

Oh, God. What was he really trying to tell her? ‘Tom, have you met someone? Somewhere? You're not making much sense.' She looked at Tom, desperate to ask him more questions.

But already he was draining his mug and getting up. ‘Mind if I do myself some toast? I've got a long drive ahead of me today. And no. I haven't met anyone.' He flashed a teasing grin at her, back to his normal self. ‘Unlike some of us, I'm still waiting to find my soulmate.'

* * *

By the time Theo arrived, smiling and bright-eyed and none the worse for their night of alcoholic excess (well, Kate's night of alcoholic excess) she was dressed, her hair curled and her 1930's make-up trowelled on her face.

She'd loved the weekend, and didn't mind working the Monday at all — but good Lord, would she be happy to get her own clothes back on and have none of that greasy slap on her face for a while. Tom had shuffled off to get ready, and Kate had other things on her mind by that point. That "other thing" was standing out the front of the museum looking just the right balance between messy and sexy. And alive! Good grief, he was alive and she was so happy to see him like that. Poor Cat. Poor Will. Horrible situation.

‘Looking good.' Theo grinned at her. She might have told him the same, but she restrained herself. Oblivious, he threw the van keys at her. ‘Race you up there.'

‘I'll win,' Kate said, unlocking the van and roaring off, leaving him transporting the last of her ice-cream at a much more sedate pace.

Kate didn't want to waste any time. Finding the newspaper had fired her into action, and there was something she was desperate to do. The morning crowds could not disperse fast enough for her, and when they did and she got the opportunity to move from the Spa, she managed to speedily wheel her bicycle into the corner and pop a sign on it.

She'd hand-painted a piece of wood with the colours she'd had left over from the very literal upcycling, and it said, in very jolly vintage lettering: Back soon! I need more ice-cream!

It was a complete lie of course, but needs must as the Devil drives. Kate hurried into the Hall, conspicuous as part of the volunteer team by grace of her wide-legged trousers and matching belted blouse; not to mention the unnaturally wavy hair. She managed to zig-zag through the crowds and headed towards the private wing of the Hall.

She was greeted at the open door with a smell of baby wipes and the sound of a squawking baby.

‘Elodie!' she shouted. ‘Is this a good time?'

‘Come on through! We have a nappy situation but it's contained!'

Kate followed her voice into the big, airy, comfortable lounge and found her with one of the babies already neatly buttoned into a onesie, and the other one in the process of being neatly buttoned. There were nappy bags and bottles and toys strewn everywhere.

‘Good Lord,' Kate said. ‘This is carnage.'

‘This is motherhood. But I think we're done. Here you are — go see Aunty Kate.' She picked the nearest baby up — Alfie, judging by the blue and white stripes — and handed him over.

‘Oh, God. I might break him.' Kate jiggled him a little bit. ‘Hello Alfie.'

Elodie tidied up the nappy changing gear and then picked up Freya. ‘I'm going to pop them in the pram and take them out for a walk. Everything going okay at the pool?'

Kate nodded, shifting Alfie slightly. ‘Yes, fine thanks, but there's just one thing. I know you're massively busy, but can you remember those ice-skates I talked to you about?'

‘Ice-skates? Oh! Yes. The broken ones, right? God, I'm sorry — I never did that digging yet, did I?' She looked contrite and Kate felt a rush of affection for her.

‘It's okay. I didn't need an answer straight away, it was more of a curiosity. But I do think that one of the things relating to them is an old photograph. That should narrow the parameters for when you get a chance.'

‘Really?' Elodie looked at Kate curiously and Kate knew she was itching to get on the case of the mysterious ice-skates. ‘How do you know that then?' Elodie had a certain ‘gift' where spirits were concerned but Kate didn't want to go there right now.

She felt her cheeks grow warm and looked down. ‘Some research I did suggested that.' She looked up defiantly. ‘Museum research. I have my own archives.' She didn't think it was necessary to tell her the research and those particular archives were a direct link to Cat Tredegar's life and memories.

‘Fair enough. And what did your research hint at?'

‘A scrapbook from around 1885. It belonged to Amelia Aldrich. The girl in the miniature in the dining room, you know?'

‘Millie? Yes, I know her. What's the book like?'

‘It's brown and it's got birds and flowers on the front, all painted in black. There's a picture in there, I think of two girls on the frozen river — and there's another photo somewhere of a girl in a Bath chair.'

‘Ah, the Bath chair one is in the main house. And a scrapbook from 1885? Okay, that's in the box over by the . . .' Elodie's voice trailed off as she thought about it. ‘. . . by the travelling trunk in the third attic. Yep. I know exactly where it is.' She grinned. ‘In fact, I can go and get it right now — if you don't mind looking after these two for a few minutes.'

She swung Freya towards Kate, and somehow Kate ended up having one baby on each arm. ‘That would be very kind. But don't be too long,' she said as Elodie hurried out of the room. ‘Please?'

* * *

By the time Elodie came back clutching the scrapbook, Kate had put both children into the twin pram and was wheeling it back and forth to keep them happy.

‘Ta dah!' she said, looking up as Elodie walked into the room. ‘All ready to go out.'

‘Hurrah!' Elodie laughed. ‘Well done. Here you go.' Kate took the scrapbook from her friend eagerly. It looked and felt so familiar that she almost sensed Millie next to her, waiting to see whether everything else had survived intact. She had to do it — she opened the book and flicked through it.

There was the rosebud, faded and powdery now, right next to the invitation. A lovely sense of warmth and belonging flowed through her and she couldn't help but smile. She flicked through a few more pages, and something slipped out of the book a little further on. Kate caught it before it fell onto the floor and turned it over to see what it was. She wasn't at all surprised to see that it was the ice-skating photograph. The dabs of paste Millie had popped onto the corners hadn't held up as well as her other workmanship — her intentions had clearly come to fruition. The photograph wasn't damaged and there were no bits of paper from the scrapbook adhering to the corners, so that meant the page mustn't have ripped. It was perfect.

‘This is it!' Kate was delighted. ‘This is the one I was looking for! She was right — it was never meant to stay stuck in there. That's just so strange!'

‘Do you think so?'

Kate looked up quickly. ‘Well maybe not so much strange as . . .' Her voice tailed off and she ended up just shrugging. ‘I don't know,' she said eventually. ‘I don't think I'm meant to take the whole book away. This girl's heart and soul went into this scrapbook and I suspect it has to stay at the Hall. Can I just borrow the picture until I can get a copy? And I can leave you the scrapbook.'

‘You can keep the photo if you like,' replied Elodie, surprising her. ‘Display it in the museum with the ice-skates. They work well together — I know you'll take care of it properly there. And yes, you can leave the book. You know you can always ask for it back if you want a proper look at some point. Oh! And that's what I meant to tell you — the Bath chair picture is in the stairwell. We had the chair next to it for a while, but it was too fragile to keep on display — and we found some kids climbing on it and they wrecked it, so it's packed away now.' She frowned. ‘So annoying. No respect for other peoples' property. Anyway, we left the photograph there. If you can hang on another couple of minutes, I'll nip through and get it. You can have that for the museum as well.'

Without waiting for an answer, Elodie disappeared through the door Kate knew was marked ‘Private' on the other side, and in a couple of minutes she was back, clutching the framed picture. Millie had kept her promise, then.

‘You might be able to get it out of that frame and check the back for anything she wrote on it,' said Elodie. ‘There might be something there that'll help.'

Their eyes met above the pushchair and she half-smiled. Elodie, Kate suspected, understood. She'd never mentioned messages on the back of the picture and she was willing to bet the photograph hadn't been removed from the frame in the past century or so.

‘Millie's always good at leaving messages. She's a very helpful person.'

The use of the present tense didn't escape Kate; but Elodie's blue eyes were guileless and she couldn't swear to anything.