Of course her parents, the two brothers who made it home and everyone else with an opinion demanded Millicent sell the new house and remain at Hatherstone Hall with her parents until she found another suitor. Preferably one with a title and some land of his own this time.
She moved into Riverbend on her twenty-first birthday, the day she had intended to marry. The first thing she did as mistress of her own estate was to hold a service of remembrance for her beloved in the chapel she’d designed for their wedding.
Six months after the war ended, in May 1919, Millie-May bought another ticket to New York and handed the deeds of Riverbend to Edgar’s nephew, Cornelius Hood. The accompanying note read:
Riverbend was built for joy and family, not a heartbroken wife and mother who never was. Fill this place with a lifetime of love and happiness, and all those children whom my beloved and I never got the chance to bear.
Cornelius and Louisa moved in on the day of their wedding: 11 July 1919. Their first son, Edgar, was born a year later, Michael and his younger sister, Verity, in the next few years. Riverbend was at last the family home bustling with joy that Millicent and Edgar had dreamed of. But, while we must hold onto the hope of a happy ending, in this story, tragedy is only ever a chapter away.
7
Hattie paused, the hand that had caressed the fabric of the dress throughout her story now coming to rest in her lap as she looked up at me. ‘It must be time for a cup of tea and some cake.’
‘What about these things?’ I asked, feeling uneasy at the thought of leaving such priceless objects scattered across the mattress.
‘Oh.’ Hattie stood up, but turned to look at them, frowning. ‘I don’t have the energy to do anything else today. What do you think we should do with them?’
‘How about I itemise everything we’ve looked at so far, and then pack them up again? I’ll start a database and make sure I label the trunk so we know where to find them when you’re ready.’
‘Perfect! I knew there was a reason I hired you.’ She attempted a grin, but the toll of spending time up here was evident in the creases around her eyes. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
A few minutes later, I brought my drink upstairs and got straight to work cataloguing the items from the trunk. As well as listing each one, adding brief notes including their probable age and potential value, if any, I also added a longer note on a separate page, detailing the story as Hattie had told it to me. While I had no intention of ever writing a book, Hattie wanted Riverbend’s history to be remembered, and this seemed the best way to do that, for now.
It was nearly eight by the time I made my way back to the ground floor, my stomach reminding me that getting lost in the past was all well and good, but in the present day, I was long overdue a decent meal.
I found Hattie on the living-room sofa, a fire in the grate and a dog curled up on each side of her tiny frame.
‘Sophie, how’s it going?’
‘That trunk’s all packed up, the contents catalogued. I’ve added some potential suggestions for what you might want to eventually do with some of Millicent’s things, but that can wait until we’ve finished looking at everything.’
‘An excellent idea.’ Hattie raised her eyebrows over the top of cerise glasses. ‘It’s Saturday night; a young woman like you should be having fun, not sorting through old gowns.’
I smiled. ‘I actually find that quite enjoyable.’
‘Then it’s a good job you found Riverbend. We’ll soon show you what fun really looks like.’
‘What would be good is some dinner. Have you eaten yet?’
Hattie glanced at the clock above the mantlepiece. ‘You won’t be surprised to hear that I lost track of time.’
‘Really? I’m starting to wonder if this is a ploy to ensure I always end up cooking.’
She burst out laughing, a guffaw from deep in her belly that made it impossible not to join in.
‘Oh, Lizzie is going to love you once she stops sulking about not being allowed on the top floor.’ Hattie stood up, stretching. ‘That was a big moment for me, heading up there. I’ve been doing some therapy, arting out some of the traumatic memories threatening to creep back in. If I don’t pace myself, I’ll never be able to get through the whole project.’
She held out a sketchbook, opened to a drawing of an older girl kneeling by a bedside, her hands gripping the quilt, face twisted to the side with a harrowing look of desolation across her features.
‘That is stunning.’ The heat of tears pressed against the backs of my eyes. That girl could have been me, eleven years ago. And far too many times, since.
‘I’m calling itThe Empty Bed.’
‘Are you going to do something with it?’ I hesitated, not sure how to ask. ‘I mean, if not, could I buy it from you?’
Hattie jumped up and grabbed the sketchbook back. ‘Absolutely not!’ She ripped out the page and threw it onto the fire before I could process what was happening.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I stepped back, flustered. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
