Chapter Twenty-Six

It had been a very successful weekend, camping-wise at least. The cows hadn't bothered Theo too much on the Monday night, either; just a few mournful moos as they called to one another across the field.

But as he was lying in the tent on top of the sleeping bag, replaying the day in his mind, he thought about the sadness of parting on the bridge. He wished they'd had a little longer there; that he'd been able to forget everything else and just enjoy being with her. But he still didn't know what was happening with Poppy; and as such he was caught in a vicious circle.

He knew he wanted Poppy and Kate. That was it, really. All he'd ever wanted.

He turned over and closed his eyes; he'd decided on one more night in Suffolk after all, but he hadn't planned on spending it in the tent on his own. He was originally going to go home to Derbyshire on Monday evening — he could have covered the distance in three hours or so, and been home before ten; but instead he'd resolved that tomorrow he'd have a proper look at the Hall. He'd intended on doing that with Kate too.

The thing was, he'd been so busy over the weekend that he hadn't had time to appreciate the Hall, even though he felt a huge sense of belonging there. Theo wanted to look at the church and see the re-conditioned marble tomb they'd all been talking about. He liked anything that was hand-crafted and part of the past; and Georgiana's tomb, as he'd heard it referred to, seemed as if it would fit the bill. He'd been looking forward to hearing Kate talk about it. It was exactly the sort of thing he could imagine her getting animated about.

But it all seemed pretty hopeless now. He'd be a lucky man indeed if he got to spend any more time with Kate. He'd watched her go, then taken Hughie back to the stable — then walked all the way back to her museum and tried to see her again.

There'd been no answer at her door. He'd try again today, he determined, and failing that — perhaps he could pop a note through her letterbox?

* * *

First thing in the morning, Theo packed the camping gear up and tucked it all into the nooks and crannies of his van, then drove to the Hall — via the Folk Museum. He knocked on the door again, and there was still no answer.

Swearing under his breath, he scrabbled in the van to find something to write on. All he could come up with was a business card. It wasn't very big, and he couldn't fit everything he wanted to say on it. So, cringing inwardly at the inadequate phrase, he wrote three words on it. Call me. Please . He pushed it through the letterbox, and then he left to visit the Hall — he'd stashed a carrot in his pocket, just in case he popped in to see Hughie. Poor old fellow, he'd been unsettled as well after all that had happened.

But it seemed, once he got there, that the chap at the desk — Brian — recognised Theo.

‘Ah! You're the farrier, aren't you?' Brian smiled. ‘I tell you, we were so happy for you to be on site. You were such a help. I don't think old Hughie's had quite so much fun in many a year. At least he got his shoes hammered on properly.'

Despite still thinking rather too much about Kate Howard, Theo laughed. ‘Hughie certainly seemed to be appreciating his fame yesterday. And that dog!' He shook his head in awe, recalling the sight of the spaniel sitting on the horse's back.

‘Horace is a character, that's for sure! Have you come back to check Hughie out today?'

‘No, I'm just going to pass by and say well done to him. I'm visiting today as a guest. I'd like to see the Hall, properly.'

Theo opened his wallet but Brian waved the gesture away. ‘You get in for free today, my friend. As a thank you from all of us.'

‘Oh! Well thanks. If you're sure?'

‘Very sure.' Brian smiled and waved Theo through into the estate.

Theo thanked Brian again, and made his way to the stables. Hughie nuzzled him in a friendly fashion as he chatted to him and congratulated him on his sterling efforts over the weekend. Theo slipped Hughie the carrot and he whinnied a "thank you", before Theo patted his nose and headed down towards the church.

It was a pleasant walk down there, and even though the festivities of the past few days had passed, there were still some visitors milling around. Theo wondered what Kate was doing today.

He wondered if he could perhaps offer a museum workshop on traditional blacksmith's methods, which would be an excellent way to reconnect with Kate and the forge, and was working out the finer details in his head when he turned the corner into the churchyard and saw her standing in front of a stone. Theo's heart skipped a beat and he hurried towards her. She had a bunch of wildflowers in her hand and as he approached, she dropped to one knee and placed the flowers on the grassy mound. Someone had been there before her. She paused, then trailed her fingers down the stems of the blue cottage garden flowers gently, moving her smaller posy closer towards them.

Theo hung back. It seemed as if it was a private moment and he didn't want to intrude, so he moved away and stood in the shade of a yew tree, giving her the privacy she needed.

She knelt for a couple of minutes, touched the stone gently and stood up; then she hurried into the church and disappeared into the gloom beyond the door.

He watched her go, then suddenly, his mobile buzzed in his pocket. A sickening feeling came over him; he was miles away from home and what if it was something relating to Poppy . . . ?

He frowned as he checked his phone. An email. From the social worker who was dealing with Poppy's case:

Dear MrKent, We have received the DNA test results back in relation to Poppy. The results confirm that you are indeed Poppy's biological father, and therefore, we look forward to discussing the options open to you . . .

For a moment Theo felt almost dizzy with relief and was grateful for the nearby tree trunk he could lean on. Poppy was his. No one else's. Now he could move on, sort things out. It was in indescribable feeling and a bubble of sheer joy burst through him.

He had a daughter and he'd make damn sure he was the one looking after her from now on.

* * *

‘I wish Millie was here today.' Her brother was subdued. His face was all fuzzy and she realised she was looking at him through a veil. ‘She wouldn't have missed this for the world. But you, dearest Cat, do look beautiful.'

Her dress was cream satin, and was more ornate than anything she had ever had before. The skirt and the train were ridiculously heavy and she carried a posy of flowers in her hands. Charles was linking her arm. They were in the entrance porch of the Hall church and she was, to all intents and purposes, getting ready to head down the aisle.

Kate could remember laying the posy on the grave — she could remember hurrying into the church; but it seemed once she had stepped over that threshold and her feet had connected with the ancient flagstones she had, quite simply, slipped into Cat's life again; as easy as that. With no warning.

Her stomach lurched. The beautiful dress was all well and good. The solid companionship of her brother was exactly what she needed. But who the hell was she marrying? She couldn't very well ask Charles. It would be as big a surprise to her when that inner door opened, as it would be to her future husband when he saw her looking like a cupcake in all this flouncy confectionery. It was bloody warm dressed up like that as well. And she assumed, as Charles was giving her away, their parents hadn't bothered to turn up either. Nothing much changes. I bet they wouldn't turn up nowadays either if one of us was getting married.

But she couldn't think about them now. The pain of loss was horribly evident on her brother's face and she owed him this much at least — she knew that he should have been the one getting married this springtime, not her. She thought again of her Tom that morning and that weirdly cryptic little conversation they'd had. Perhaps she understood some of it now, but she didn't want to think about it too deeply — not here.

‘Millie is here in spirit, Charles.' It sounded stupidly trite but it was true. She could feel her, so very close to her that she half-expected her to twitch at the back of her train and straighten it out.

‘I'd like a pale blue bridesmaid's dress,' she'd told her. They were still pretending it wasn't going to happen, even as she lay propped up in bed, so frail and weak that they both knew she'd never make it beyond the winter, never mind into springtime—

Charles's voice broke into the memory — Cat's memory. ‘It's why she wanted to be buried close to the path,' he said, with a faint smile. ‘She told me she didn't want to miss anything.'

‘I'll give her my bouquet. She'll like that.'

‘She will. Anyway; she would want us to be happy and celebrate today. I think we've both had enough heartbreak to last a lifetime, don't you? So let us rejoice over the fact you're getting a second chance!'

Kate moved into him in an awkward hug, and he laid his cheek briefly against her hair. ‘Damn hairpin just stuck in me, Cat,' he murmured.

It wasn't much of a joke, but it made them both giggle.

It was odd to think that she was about to experience walking down this aisle over one hundred years before Elodie — who'd done it twice, let's face it — yet Kate didn't have a clue who was waiting for her.

She looked over her shoulder towards Millie's grave. The marble was freshly carved and the letters gilded perfectly. An angel stood watch over her and the grass had begun to grow over the sad little mound. An abundance of crocuses had shown their faces over the last few days and the area around the grave was a riot of purple and lilac. She would have loved it.

At the moment, the grave was also decorated with Dog; Hector lay amongst the blooms, a blue ribbon around his neck, his tongue hanging out. He was part of today too but Kate knew he wouldn't come inside the church. He would stay here with Millie, just to keep her company.

A shadow flitted behind the yew trees, and Kate caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Had she been a fanciful person, she might have thought it was a ghost, but practicality told her that nobody had ever seen one in this churchyard. In the Hall itself, yes — what with the nurseries and even perhaps that beautiful, ethereal shade she'd come across on the Faerie Bridge. Her heart twisted once more at the loss of Millie.

And, of course, there was the legend of the ubiquitous highwayman in the woods, riding through it on his way somewhere. He didn't interact with anyone; he just hurtled past and disappeared.

So she turned back to the door, dismissing the shadow as a villager come for a little peek at the wedding, and took a deep breath. ‘I'm ready, Charles.' This was certainly going to be interesting.

* * *

The cart rocked and bounced over every rut in the road. Will hung on, wishing the horse would go faster, wishing he could outpace it by running.

He'd managed to get a train to Ipswich, and had started to walk back to Hartsford, hitching lifts where he could from passing farm workers and carts. He had been so lucky, he thought it was Fate — he had managed to pick up a ride from the cooper, who worked in the next village to Hartsford — yes, he could certainly take Will there, it was a lovely day for it, wasn't it? He'd heard tell there was to be a wedding today, and if he was lucky, Will might be able to join in the celebrations.

Will's stomach twisted with a sense of foreboding. ‘Who's getting wed?' he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The cooper waved his hand in the vague direction of the Hall. ‘Someone at the big house. One of the girls. Well,' he took his cap off briefly, ‘the girl that's left, that would be.'

‘The girl that's left ?' Will clutched the side of the cart. ‘Has one of them moved away? Already been wed?'

‘No, lad.' The cooper smiled at him sadly. ‘Not so many months since the family lost their girl.'

‘Good God. Which one?' Will dreaded the answer.

‘LadyAmelia, God rest her soul. Consumption.'

Will felt sick. That was bad enough; that was horrendous . But it also meant—

‘So the wedding — it's MissCatriona?'

‘Ah, yes! That would be her name.' The cooper nodded.

‘Please.' Will's voice was desperate. ‘Hurry. I have to get there.'

* * *

Charles gave a nod to the curate who appeared out of nowhere and opened the door into the church. The organ began to play and she was on her way. Kate stepped into the nave and the congregation turned to catch sight of her; but there was only person she wanted to see: her groom.

A man was standing at the altar, dressed in a grey suit. He turned and their eyes met. Edward Mountfort smiled at her and she stopped dead in her tracks.

Charles clutched her arm tightly, fearing, Kate thought, that she was going to stumble or fall. ‘Are you all right?' he asked in a low voice.

She nodded dumbly, but all she could think at that moment was this:

Thank God this isn't my real life. I never actually wanted to get married to Chris. He would have probably had his mobile in his frock-coat pocket and have a honeymoon in Canada or somewhere that he could co-ordinate with a business meeting. His eyes would never have settled on her for very long; he'd be thinking of the next thing he had to do; quite possibly, even the next girl he could do.

And where would they have lived? Chiswick, she guessed. Being a girlfriend and living in Suffolk was one thing, but his wife? He would be under no obligation to move up here with her, she knew that, although he'd half-promised before the consultancy took off — but it would have been nice to think it had been a possibility. When they'd had children, perhaps, and wanted to do the whole ‘move to the country' thing. But she hadn't wanted to have children with Chris. Ever.

She felt quite sick.

‘It's just a big commitment,' she managed to whisper, ‘in the eyes of God and all that.' It seemed a more appropriate comment.

Charles said nothing, he just squeezed her arm and she pasted a smile on her face.

She had to remember — this wasn't her life. This was Cat's life. Will was dead. Edward had apparently asked her to marry him. And she'd said yes.

However, she paused briefly; resisted the gentle tug of her brother.

Then she looked up at him: ‘D'you know, Charles, I don't think I can do it.'

‘What?' Charles' eyes widened. He stopped and looked down at her, horrified. ‘Cat! What do you mean?'

‘He was . . . being . . . unfaithful.' She blushed, trying to think of a suitable way of describing it. ‘He was in amorous congress with Maria', was probably something he'd understand better — but it sounded a bit weird to her twenty-first century ears, and she didn't think she could say it without giggling inappropriately anyway.

‘Unfaithful? Cat!'

‘Yes. He was — kissing — Maria.' Oh, he was doing more than kissing her, but she couldn't really tell Charles that.

‘Kissing Maria ? Good Lord—'

‘Shhh! You can't say that in a church! It's like blasphemy or something.'

‘Well, really, Cat. Is that all they were doing?'

‘Actually no.' She blushed. ‘There was . . . more than, uhm . . . kissing.' Good grief! ‘They were in . . . convivial society.'

‘Cat!'

They were still just inside, quite close to the entrance porch and the congregation were becoming restless.

‘Is the bride quite well?' Someone materialised at the side and Kate looked at them, without really seeing them.

‘Yes. Thank you. I'm just very nervous.'

‘Cat—'

Kate had to squash down the feeling of impending doom as she looked again at Edward. But this wasn't her life. It was Cat's life, and whatever she felt in the modern-day world had nothing to do with how Cat had felt — surely. She felt the sweat begin to prickle across her forehead and wondered if she could fall down in a supposed faint and play the terrified virgin bride to put it off a little longer.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. ‘Charles — what should I do?'

‘If you don't want to do it, then don't do it!'

‘But I'd be letting everyone down!'

‘Sod everyone.'

‘Charles!' Kate looked around helplessly. The vicar was looking perplexed and she really didn't like the pressure. Why on earth had Cat allowed it to get to this point? She must have wanted to marry him — rebound, loneliness, forgiveness — whatever had been in Cat's head, she had made the decision to marry Edward and Kate had to abide by it.

‘I'll do it. I'll do it. It's what she would have wanted,' she heard herself say. Charles started, and she realised he would assume she meant Millie. She pressed her lips together and nodded. ‘Yes. I'll do it. Come on.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes.' No, not at all.

‘Very well.' His fuzzy face didn't look convinced but she took a determined step forwards, forcing him to walk alongside her, and they started to make their way slowly and elegantly down the aisle of Hartsford church.