My True Companion Read online

“That’s true,” said Barbara Conrad. “The beauty of the British countryside cannot be beaten, I don’t care what you say, Count Chlomsky.”

  “Ah, Madam, we all love our own country best.”

  “And yet you left your country,” Millie said, hoping to gauge the Count’s reaction.

  “That is true, young lady, I did. But loving one’s country and approving of one’s leaders is a very different thing.”

  “It was for love that General Wolfe died in Canada,” said Barbara.

  “That and to get a British foothold in Canada,” said the Count. For a man who had changed sides during the war, he sounded less than flattering about the country he had aided.

  “I can see why you love it here,” Millie said to Hortense.

  “Yes, it’s my favourite place,” said Hortense. She seemed subdued. Millie didn’t like to think of Mr Parker-Trent being cruel to his wife, but his tone of voice the night before suggested he was more than capable of brutality.

  “You said you wanted to speak to me,” said Millie. “Last night?”

  “She’s changed her mind,” said Mr Parker-Trent, cutting in before Hortense could speak. “I’ve told her not to poke her nose into matters that don’t concern her.”

  “It was probably nothing,” said Hortense, in a voice that suggested fear and resignation all in one.

  “Well, isn’t this a wonderful sight?” a voice said behind them. “A tribute to a man who promised to leave Canada to famine and desolation, and yet accused the enemy of not behaving in a gentleman-like manner.” It was James Haxby and he looked to be completely unfazed by the climb up the hill. He was also looking directly at Millie. “Ah, I see the ghost of Fazeby Hall has escaped her bonds. Good morning, Millicent.”

  “Good morning, Mr Haxby,” said Millie.

  “Oh,” said Hortense. “You’re the adventurer.” Her sullen face changed, her ruby red lips turning up at the corners. “I’m Hortense Parker-Trent.” She held out her hand.

  “And I am her husband,” said Mr Parker-Trent, casting a furious glance at his wife.

  “You have my deepest sympathy, Mrs Parker-Trent,” said Haxby, ignoring Mr Parker-Trent’s obvious fury. “Cynthia, how are you?”

  Cynthia Fazeby stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m very well, you naughty boy. Let me introduce you to the rest of the party.”

  “It’s alright, I know Mr Markham. How are you Markham? And Mrs Conrad. I believe we met in Argentina not long ago.”

  “Yes, that’s right I was there with my husband,” said Barbara. She said it as if Haxby had challenged her, yet his statement had sounded innocent enough.

  “I’m afraid he and I didn’t get to meet,” Haxby said. “Away on business, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “Count Chlomsky.” Haxby held out his hand but there was something in his eyes when he looked at the Count that perplexed Millie. Was it open hostility? Or wariness? Haxby did not appear to be a man who hid his emotions.

  Millie was used to people who behaved with great politeness, regardless of their true feelings. In Haxby she saw a man who had no intentions of holding anything back. It both impressed and unnerved her. Even more so when he stood next to her, looking out over the Peak District. “I must admit the name suits the place,” he said. “The view is almost biblical in its outlook, taking in all of God’s beauty.”

  “We were just saying that there were few finer places,” said Barbara Conrad

  “I have seen finer,” said Haxby, “but none that stir the heart quite so well as the Peak District.”

  “Goodness, Jim, you could have waited for me.” Mrs Oakengate gasped from somewhere below them. She was struggling up the hill, wearing inappropriate footwear. It irked Millie, for reasons she did not quite understand, that Mrs Oakengate was already calling Haxby by a name that he himself had said was saved for his more intimate friends. “He refused to use the tram, so I had no choice but to walk up too. Whatever happened to helping a lady?”

  “You need a gentleman for that,” said Haxby. “And I’m no gentleman. Besides, women over thirty have the vote now. You can climb your own hills by all accounts.”

  “He is such a tease,” gasped Mrs Oakengate, finally reaching the top. “He talks like a socialist at times.”

  “Do you not believe that women should have the vote, Mr Haxby?” asked Millie.

  “Only those who know what to do with it.” He cast a glance at Hortense and Mrs Oakengate.

  “Do all men know what to do with their votes?” asked Millie, smiling.

  “Millicent! I will not have a companion of mine speaking in such reactionary terms,” said Mrs Oakengate. “Do forgive her, Jim. You are aware, I’m sure that Millicent has suffered a great loss recently. Her father was…”

  “Richard Woodridge. Yes, I know. I’m sure that if any of us dared to forget, you would soon remind us, Mrs Oakengate,” said Haxby, quietly. “After all, what other claim to fame have you nowadays?” That latter was said in even quieter tones, and Millie suspected that if Mrs Oakengate heard it, she pretended not to.

  “Now we’ve climbed that blessed hill, shall we go back down?” Mrs Oakengate asked. “I saw a tea room at the bottom. Had Jim not told me the hill was not as steep as it looked, I’d have stayed there.”

  Haxby looked directly at Millie with amusement in his eyes. She hid her laughter in a discreet cough.

  As Mrs Oakengate decreed, the group began to descend the hill, heading towards the tea room.

  Later Millie would try hard to remember the order in which everyone went down the hill, but Haxby’s presence by her side for the entire journey downhill cleared her mind of all else. There had been several people climbing the hill, but she had not taken much notice of them either. She was too intent on looking ahead, so that she would not catch his eye. At one point she nearly slipped, and felt Haxby’s warm hand on her waist, preventing her from going flying. Another man – middle aged and with pock-marked skin that showed the ravages of acne - who was walking up the hill had also reached out, but on seeing Haxby had control of the situation, backed off.

  “Are you all right?” Haxby asked, showing more gallantry than he had shown her employer.

  “I may not have the vote yet, but I can get up and down a hill,” she said.

  “I’m sure you can, Millicent,” he said. “Or do your friends call you Millie?”

  “Most people, except Mrs Oakengate, call me Millie.”

  “Come on, Millie, Haxby,” said Alex Markham, overtaking them, with Barbara Conrad not far behind. “Race you to the tea rooms!”

  “Where is Hortense?” asked Mr Parker-Trent when they were all seated and tea had been served. The table was laden with fruit scones, Victoria sponge and homemade biscuits. Despite the hearty breakfast served at Fazeby Hall only a couple of hours earlier, everyone tucked in, the climb having given them all a good appetite.

  A young girl served them, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden influx of customers out of season.

  “I don’t suppose she’ll be bringing that hot water anytime soon,” said Parker-Trent, shaking the empty teapot.

  “Give the girl a chance,” Haxby said, “she’s only just run in with the extra scones you ordered.”

  “I was saying to Millicent yesterday that you can’t get good servants nowadays,” Mrs Oakengate said.

  “I know,” said Haxby. “It’s disgusting, people thinking they don’t want to clean up all the mess left by the idle rich.”

  “You’re being provocative again, Jim,” said Cynthia Fazeby. She addressed him in motherly tones, despite her only being about five years older than him.

  “Really?” Haxby’s eyes gleamed and there was a noticeable change in his tone when he talked to Cynthia, which suggested to Millie that he liked their hostess. “I thought I was just being facetious. Provocative is much more interesting.”

  “You are a provocative man,” Mrs Oakengate said, smiling coquettishly. “I don’t beli
eve you mean half of what you say.”

  “I promise you, Mrs Oakengate that I always mean everything I say.”

  “Where in damnation is Hortense?” said Mr Parker-Trent, looking at his watch. Millie looked around and for the first time realised Parker-Trent’s young wife was missing.

  “I thought she came down Masson Hill with you,” said Barbara Conrad.

  “She decided to stay up there a while longer,” said Parker-Trent. “Damn her to hell, she’s never where she should be.”

  “I could go and find her,” said Millie.

  “No, I’ll go,” said Parker-Trent. “I want to speak to her alone.”

  “He’s an odious man,” said Haxby when Parker-Trent had left the tea room. He had taken the seat next to her in the café, she guessed, or perhaps she hoped, because it was as far away from Mrs Oakengate as possible. “Treats that little wife of his very badly, no doubt.”

  “It isn’t for us to delve into the private affairs of a married couple,” said Alex Markham, stiffly.

  “Quite,” said Haxby, “meanwhile women are mistreated and have nowhere to go when they need help.”

  “I thought you believed we could climb our own hills,” said Millie. Really she wanted to ask Uncle Alex whether he truly believed it was all right to ignore abuse, even in a marriage. His remark seemed at odds with the man she knew. She wondered if he were a little jealous because of Haxby sitting with her. That might account for his reserve.

  “Whilst men have more physical power than women there are some hills that can never be climbed,” said Haxby, grimly. “Not until society treats those men with the disdain they deserve. It says something bad about this country that a man can be hanged for stealing to feed his family, yet we allow those who mistreat their wives and children to go free under the cloak of marital privilege.”

  “What a reactionary you are, Jim,” said Mrs Oakengate, her eyes shining with excitement. She clearly found him very attractive, despite the fact that he treated her with disdain. “It’s a wonder they don’t hang you for some of the things you say.”

  “No, they only hang innocent men in this country,” said Haxby. Millie gasped, and bit her lip, desperate to stop herself from crying. Unable quell her emotions, she stood up and went outside.

  “That was very cruel of me, Millie. Please accept my apology,” said Haxby, who had followed her out.

  “What? To call my father innocent?” said Millie. “On the contrary, it was a very kind thing to say.”

  “I’m not a kind man, though. You know that, don’t you, Millie?”

  “Yes, I think I know that.”

  “But I normally reserve my unkind comments for those I believe deserve them. Like the ghastly Oakengate, and Parker-Trent.”

  “And Chlomsky?”

  “Chlomsky? I don’t know what he deserves. Yet.”

  Millie was prevented from asking what ‘yet’ meant by sudden shouting and yelling. People were running down Masson Hill, followed by a stricken looking Parker-Trent.

  “Get a rescue team!” a man shouted, running to them. “And a doctor.”

  “What is it?” asked Haxby. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s this gentleman’s wife.” He pointed to Parker-Trent.

  “Is she hurt?” asked Millie, feeling her legs weaken as a sense of doom overtook her. She struggled to remain composed. She did not want to be one of those women who fainted at the first sign of any problems.

  “She’s fallen off the cliff,” Parker-Trent said, his cheeks pink with exertion. “Landed on a ledge. We think her back is broken.”

  Chapter Four

  Millie watched as the men walked up Masson Hill, ready to meet the rescue team.

  “Let the men do what they need to do,” Mrs Oakengate told Millie sternly, as the women waited for the car outside the cafe. “When this weekend is over, Millicent, I think you and I need to talk. I am not best pleased with the way you are pushing yourself forward with Mr Haxby. I do not mean to be unkind…”

  “Then don’t be, Victoria,” said Cynthia Fazeby, quietly but firmly. “There is enough distress today, with poor Hortense in such danger. Let us not add to it with trivial concerns.”

  “I … very well, Cynthia, as we are your guests, I shall hold my tongue.” Mrs Oakengate glowered at Millie.

  “We need tea,” Cynthia said to the butler when they arrived back the hall. “Lots of it.”

  Henry Fazeby came out from his study. “Is it true, what I’ve heard? Mrs Parker-Trent is injured?”

  Cynthia nodded. “Then I think this calls for something more than tea,” said Henry. “Brandy all around I think.” He turned to the butler, who nodded. “You girls look stricken.”

  They retired to the drawing room, where Mrs Oakengate knocked her brandy back and immediately asked for another. Millie sipped hers, not quite liking the taste, but too polite to refuse Henry’s ministrations. He was very attentive to them all, in the old-fashioned way of treating women like birds with broken wings. Despite that, Millie liked him and his wife very much, and felt sorry that she had caused them so much embarrassment by being at Fazeby Hall. Not that any of that mattered with Hortense Parker-Trent in such danger.

  It mystified Millie how someone so used to the Heights could end up in difficulties. Surely Hortense would know not to walk too near the edge. Or perhaps … Millie dismissed the thought. Hortense might have seemed unhappy, but that would be no reason to take her own life.

  The men returned two hours later. Alex Markham entered the drawing room, and stood with his back to the fire, as if ready to make a speech he would rather leave to someone else.

  “Mrs Parker-Trent?” said Cynthia, frowning.

  He shook his head. “We did all we could. Young Haxby climbed down to her, but she was already close to death. They took her to the hospital, but we’re told she was dead on arrival.”

  “No!” the chorus rang around the room. Millie felt a chill run down her spine.

  “That poor girl,” Cynthia said. “She was only what? Twenty-three, twenty four years old.”

  “Yes, it’s dreadful,” said Mrs Oakengate. “And casts such a shadow over an otherwise lovely weekend.”

  “I’m sure Mrs Parker-Trent will be sorry that she put you out,” said Henry Fazeby.

  “Oh, of course it’s not her fault.” Mrs Oakengate had the grace to look embarrassed. “But one does wonder how she could be so careless.”

  “And Mr Parker-Trent?” said Barbara Conrad, casting an irritated glance at Mrs Oakengate.

  “He is in great distress, as you can imagine, and doesn’t wish to see anyone at the moment. Chlomsky has helped him to his room.”

  “I think then that the best thing we can all do is go home,” Barbara said.

  “That won’t be possible,” said James Haxby, entering the room. “Can I have some of that brandy, Henry? Thank you.” He drank it down in one go. His face was pale, but there was something else that Millie noticed. He looked furious.

  “What do you mean, not possible?” said Mrs Oakengate. “If I want to leave, I shall leave.”

  “The police are on their way,” Haxby said, pouring another brandy. He looked as though he was about to drink that down too, but seemed to change his mind and sipped from it instead.

  “Why?” Alex Markham turned to him. It was clearly news to him.

  “Because just before she died, Mrs Parker-Trent told me that she’d been pushed.” Haxby looked around the room, as if searching every face for a reaction.

  “No!” said Millie, feeling as if she might lose her equilibrium at any moment. The room seemed to swirl around her. It was even worse than she had imagined. “That’s awful. But who?”

  “Did she give a name?” asked Barbara. She was sitting next to Millie, and had reached out her hand and placed it on Millie’s arm, to steady her.

  Everyone turned to Haxby, in expectation. Millie wondered if she were the only one considering it might be someone sitting in that very room.

/>   “No,” said Haxby. “No, she didn’t mention any names.” Odd that he said names, thought Millie, and not a name. “I asked her, ‘how did you fall?’ and she said ‘Not fall. Pushed’. Then I asked her who, but she passed out.” Something in his face told Millie he was lying. No, not lying, exactly. Holding something back. Then he looked directly at her, and she felt the colour rush to her face. Did he think she had done it?

  “Excuse me, Sir,” the butler said, entering the room and addressing Henry. “There is a policeman at the door. A Detective Inspector Brady.”

  “Is that Simon Brady?” asked Haxby.

  “I’ve no idea, Sir. I can ask.”

  “No, I’ll come along and find out for myself. I know Brady,” said Haxby by way of explanation to the others. “If it’s Simon Brady, he used to work in the West Indies. Good man, and good at his job. He’ll soon get to the bottom of this.” He was just about to leave the room when he turned back. “Millie, come with me. Inspector Brady may need to talk to you.”

  Unable to refuse the request, but all too aware of everyone’s inquisitive glare, Millie followed Haxby out of the room.

  “It is you!” he said, when they reached the hallway. He greeted Brady warmly. Brady was a good looking man, around Haxby’s age, with a rugged complexion that spoke of a long time spent in a warm climate. The two men were instantly at ease with each other. “May I introduce you to Miss Millicent Woodbridge. She’ll be helping us with this.”

  “Helping us?” said Brady, grinning. “I know you’ve helped me in the past, Jim, but this isn’t the colonies. We have to do things a bit more by the book here.”

  “Of course we’ll do it by the book. I just might interpret the text slightly differently to you.” He said it as if he would brook no argument. Brady looked at him levelly, before nodding.

  “I’ve got nothing to do with this,” Millie said. “I walked back down Masson Hill with you.” The words rushed out, leaving her breathless.

  “It’s alright, Millie. I know you didn’t.” Haxby looked amused by her outburst.

  They were shown to the library, where they could talk in private. The two men took a comfortable seat near the fire, whilst Millie sat on the sofa, still unsure of her role in all this.