seventeen
“I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH, SCARLETT”
I’m sitting quietly, turning something over in my hand. A pendant on a silver chain, a bright blue stone that I used to think was an aquamarine, in a simple silver setting. It used to belong to my mother; my father gave it to her on my fourth birthday, because it was the same color as my eyes. Wakefield blue, she called the color, and my father must have gone to a lot of trouble and expense to find it.
When Mr. Barnes deliberately knocked my parents off their scooter that summer day, when he stopped the van he’d been driving to make sure they were dead, he took this pendant from my mother’s neck. Like a trophy. And he gave it to his wife, Dawn, Jase’s mother, who never wore it, because she was suspicious about where it came from—he told her not to wear it out in public, not to show it off to anyone.
Dawn, who couldn’t say boo to a goose, wasn’t brave enough to ask any awkward questions. Scared, intimidated by her increasingly drunken and violent husband, she put the pendant in a drawer and pretended it didn’t exist. And years later, when Jase and I started seeing each other, Jase remembered the necklace his mother had left behind, and thought I might like it, because it matched my eyes.
I loved it from the moment he gave it to me; I wore it constantly. Until Lizzie Livermore, who, if nothing else, is an expert on expensive jewelry, looked closely at it and told me it wasn’t an aquamarine at all. It’s a round-cut blue diamond, very rare and very valuable. And when I learned that, I started to trace the story of the pendant, like tugging on a loose thread that ends up unraveling a whole garment.
Of course, now that I know it’s a diamond, I wonder how I could ever have thought it was anything else. It sparkles as I hold it to the light, and though it glints brightly, the layers of blue beneath are velvety, with a depth that—according to Lizzie—is too rich for a semiprecious stone, but is characteristic of a diamond.
I never let Aunt Gwen see me wearing it, because Jase had given it to me, and she was so opposed to our relationship that she was quite capable of confiscating any present from him. But of course, that was before I knew the truth about the necklace, what it really was. I realize, thinking over the whole story, that it would have driven Aunt Gwen crazy to know that Mr. Barnes had taken my mother’s necklace for Dawn. To me, that says that although he killed my parents in a conspiracy with Aunt Gwen, it was purely for financial benefit. His feelings must always have been with his wife, if he bothered to lean down and snatch this pendant off my mother’s neck for her.
I swallow hard at the image this calls up. It’s horrible. And it was all for nothing. If anything, Aunt Gwen was worse off after she had her brother and sister-in-law killed; not only did her lover, Mr. Barnes, turn into a drunk, her mother—my grandmother—marooned her in the gatehouse with an orphaned four-year-old.
All for nothing. I can’t think about it too long; the pain and the waste are too overwhelming. If I let myself think about what my life would have been like if I’d grown up with my parents alive—parents who loved me, and would probably have had more children, so I’d have had little sisters and brothers to play with—it makes the biggest lump come up in my throat.
And then I think, the first time this idea has ever come to me: If I had a younger brother, it would be him who’d inherit Wakefield Hall, not me. Because the whole estate is entailed on a male heir, if there is one.
It wouldn’t be fair. I feel a rush of resentment rise up in me at the thought—and not just resentment, but a love for Wakefield Hall I didn’t even know I had. The centuries of history, the beautiful old central wing; the maze, the lake, the terraces with their views over Lime Walk. It’ll be all mine one day. It’s a huge responsibility to take care of it, to keep it as perfectly as my grandmother does. The weight settles on my shoulders. I’ve always known it was there, and now I’ve accepted it.
The idea of my parents having a boy after me, a boy who would take that all away from me, is harder to bear. For the first time, I feel something in common with Aunt Gwen. I have an inkling of the anger and resentment she must have felt, growing up knowing that her brother would, one day, have all of Wakefield. Aunt Gwen wouldn’t be cast out without a penny, of course. There’s plenty of family money to go round. But it must have been really bitter for her to realize that just because her brother was a boy, he was the crown prince, and she was a very distant second.
I can’t ever forgive her for what she did to my parents, and what she tried to do to me. But at least I can understand it, a little.
“Scarlett? Scarlett!” Penny, my grandmother’s secretary, has to call my name twice, I’m so lost in thought. She leans over her desk, waving her hand to catch my attention. “You can go through now. She’s ready for you.”
The entire Wakefield Hall contingent came back on the train from Edinburgh first thing this morning. We only got back to school half an hour ago, and Miss Carter brought me straight to my grandmother’s suite of rooms. I’ve got my pull suitcase here, propped up against the wall, and for a moment I debate taking it in with me, before Penny gestures to me to leave it where it is.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. I can’t believe I was seriously considering dragging and bumping my suitcase into my grandmother’s elegant, exquisitely decorated study. I must be feeling even more disoriented than I realize. I’m dreading this interview with my grandmother. It’s all still sinking in, probably because I was zoned out for most of yesterday, knocked out by the trauma of my struggle with Aunt Gwen, the shock of her death, all heavily overlaid with the antihistamines she’d given me. The strain of keeping my story straight to the police was horrendous, even with Seth backing me up.
We kept our version of events as simple as possible: Aunt Gwen was taking me up to her room to make me some tea when Seth walked into the school, making a surprise visit to his sister while traveling through Edinburgh. Aunt Gwen naturally offered Seth a cup of tea too, telling him he could wait with us until the rest of the school party got back from their excursion; I felt dizzy, Aunt Gwen kindly opened a window to give me some cool air, leaned out too far, slipped, and fell in a terrible freak accident. Seth coached me over and over before the police came, telling me not to add any extra details that might catch us out, focusing completely on putting across the most basic story possible.
Even so, the police didn’t like it at all. I wanted Seth to go before they came, telling him he shouldn’t be mixed up with them, but he’d refused, saying that they wouldn’t believe a story this implausible unless there were two witnesses. Seth turned out to be right; they questioned us for hours, trying to find holes in the story, convinced that we were in some sort of conspiracy. It helped that everyone, especially Taylor, swore up and down that I’d never met Seth before, which made it incredibly unlikely that we would have got together to plan something as extreme as killing my aunt; in the end, with no evidence to the contrary, and both of us telling the same story, there was nothing they could do but let us go with great reluctance.
Seth was amazing. I was pretty much a total wreck, and he was a tower of strength: calm, detached, clearheaded, focusing not on Aunt Gwen’s awful death, or what she’d tried to do to me, but on the single task of selling our story to the police. He seemed so much older than me; I know he’s twenty, which is quite a bit older, but honestly, it was like talking to an adult, one I could completely trust. I liked him and was intimidated by his poise in equal measure. And it made me realize why Taylor’s so confident in so many areas: with a brother like that to model yourself on, how could you not be?
Afterward, I was so shattered they put me straight to bed. I passed out, sleeping through until Taylor woke me this morning in time to pack and catch the train; and then, in the first-class seat Miss Carter had thoughtfully booked for me, I passed out all over again, watched over by her and Jane. It’s extraordinary how the aftermath of extreme stress can knock you out utterly and completely as the adrenaline floods out of your system, leaving you just a drained, exhausted shell.
But as I eventually turn the handle and step into my grandmother’s sanctum, the sight of her shocks me to the core. However bad I felt yesterday and today, she looks infinitely worse. Lady Wakefield is always perfectly poised and groomed, her white hair smooth, her twinset and pearls exquisitely appropriate, her blue eyes bright and sharp. This afternoon is no exception; she doesn’t have a hair out of place. But her face is a pale, fragile mask, white as paper and massed with lines, like tissue that’s been crumpled in someone’s hand; her eyes are faded and full of pain.
I’m supposed to call her Lady Wakefield in term time, because I’m a pupil at the school and she’s the headmistress. My grandmother imposed that rule on me as soon as I came here as a student, and she’s very strict about it.
But, running toward her, full of worry at how frail she looks, I forget it completely.
“Grandma!” I exclaim, plopping down on the upholstered footstool next to her chair, taking the hand she’s holding out to me.
“Oh, Scarlett …” To my utter amazement, she starts to cry. It should be frightening, my grandmother crying, showing her vulnerability, because she’s always so strong. But actually, surprisingly, it comes as a huge relief. “Scarlett,” she sobs, “you’re all I have left.…”
She raises her other hand and strokes my hair gently, something no one has done for a long, long time. It’s so comforting that tears form in my own eyes. I lean against her knees.
“I’m not going anywhere, Grandma,” I assure her, trying to find words that will make her feel better. “I’m right here—I’ll always be here.…”
“Both my children, gone,” my grandmother sobs quietly. “And Sally, lovely Sally—she and Patrick adored each other, they were such a happy couple … how could this have happened? How could my family have come to this, just one Wakefield left, apart from me? I thought Patrick and Sally would have a whole family of their own, running around the gardens, playing on the lawns … and now it’s just you left, Scarlett. Just you.”
She’s still holding my hand, so tightly that her rings are cutting into me, but all I do is squeeze hers back, too choked up to be able to say a word.
“It’s my fault,” she says desolately. “I loved Patrick better, and Gwen knew it. Children always know if their mother has a favorite. Poor Gwen, I never felt the same about her, and I couldn’t pretend to. She was her father’s pet, but he died too young. If he’d lived, maybe everything would have been different … maybe Gwen would have been less bitter, less resentful … but he died, and I miss him every day.…”
I never knew my grandfather; he died a long time ago, well before I was born. I’ve seen photographs, of course. That’s how I know Aunt Gwen took after him. Thinking of Aunt Gwen makes me shiver, and my hand tightens even more on my grandmother’s, holding on to the only relative I have left, the only one I’ve ever been able to trust.
“I should never have let Gwen bring you up,” she says. “Never.”
Patting my hand, she reaches into her pocket for a handkerchief; nothing as common as tissues for my grandmother. She dabs her eyes as she continues:
“I wanted to have you here, at the Hall. That’s what Penny suggested I do. Hire a nice nanny to live in, furnish your parents’ room, keep you under my own eye. But Gwen was in her thirties, a much more appropriate age to bring up a child. And Mrs. Bodger had just moved out of the gatehouse into the old-age home at Wakefield—countless generations of children grew up in the gatehouse. I remember all the little Bodgers playing in the garden. It was a very happy little family home. I hoped that you and Gwen would come together, make your own little family. Redeem what had happened, somehow.” She gulps. “I meant it for the best, Scarlett. If I was distant with you, it’s because I didn’t want to undermine Gwen; she was in loco parentis with you, after all. I didn’t want to tread on her toes.”
How much has she guessed? I wonder as she blows her nose with perfect elegance: Lady Wakefield could give princesses lessons in etiquette. From the way she’s talking, she must have some idea of what happened between me and Aunt Gwen yesterday afternoon. If she really believed it had just been a tragic accident, she’d be asking me questions about it, talking very differently. She’d be mourning Aunt Gwen. Concerned whether I’d been traumatized by seeing the fall, still in shock at Aunt Gwen’s horrible death.
But I’m not hearing any of that. Instead, my grandmother’s telling me that she should never have left me alone with Aunt Gwen. That she has a half suspicion, at least, that Aunt Gwen wasn’t trustworthy as far as I’m concerned.
“I had no idea that anything was wrong.…” She gulps. “Well, it would be more honest to say I didn’t want to have any idea that something might be wrong, Scarlett,” she says piteously. “My son was gone, and so was his wife. Gwen was my only daughter. My only living child. How could I bring myself to believe that she …” She trails off, squeezing my hand tightly. “I never thought any harm would come to you,” she says more strongly. “Never.”
I remember Aunt Gwen telling me yesterday that she thought her mother suspected what she had done. I hadn’t truly believed her. Because if my grandmother left me in the care of the woman she thought might have killed my parents—a woman who would have a motive to kill me, too—that would have been incredibly irresponsible of her.
And if there’s one word that doesn’t describe Lady Wakefield in any way, it’s irresponsible.
I look up at her, into her blue eyes. I sense she did have a tiny inkling that Aunt Gwen might be capable of murder, but I sense too that she’s spent every day of her life since my parents’ death suppressing that instinct with every ounce of willpower that she possesses. There’s absolutely no way that my grandmother would have decreed that I was going to live with Aunt Gwen if she had truly believed that inkling. She would never have risked my life.
No, she’s spent all these years telling herself firmly that being with Aunt Gwen was best for me, that we were bonding. Which is really tragic, because my grandmother actually wanted me with her, in the Hall, and I would have loved that too. Aunt Gwen’s suggestion that I was forced on her as some sort of perverse punishment for her crime was just typical Aunt Gwen nastiness, designed to make me feel as bad as humanly possible.
My grandmother loves me, and wanted what was best for me. She wanted me to grow close to my aunt, so that I’d have a relative left who loved me when she eventually died. And I can’t blame her for refusing to believe the truth about Aunt Gwen: what parent could believe their daughter killed their son without solid, cast-iron proof?
“I made a mistake, Scarlett,” my grandmother is saying now as she clasps my hand. “But I meant it for the best. You believe that, don’t you?”
I can’t manage to speak, but I nod vigorously as I sit back on the footstool, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. It’s a measure of how upset my grandmother is that she doesn’t immediately snap at me for not having a handkerchief of my own. Instead, she takes a deep breath and sits back herself, her spine once more poker-straight, folding her handkerchief and slipping it into the pocket of her cardigan.
“Well, I’ve made more than one mistake,” my grandmother says more firmly. “And there’s nothing I can do to redeem those. My daughter is dead.” She swallows, but she has herself under control now, and some color is coming back to her cheeks. “Gwen was never happy,” she adds. “She shouldn’t have stayed at Wakefield. She could have taught at any school she wanted to. Goodness knows, there were always offers; she was considered one of the best geography teachers in the country. Eton … Winchester … Cheltenham … a mixed school, where she could have had a wider circle of acquaintances …”
Men, Grandma means. Male teachers, who might have been interested in Aunt Gwen.
“I should have put my foot down. Insisted that she take one of those opportunities,” my grandmother continues. “It might have been the saving of her. Instead, she became unhealthily obsessed with Wakefield, I’m afraid. I thought she understood that, as your father’s daughter, you would naturally be my heir.”
“That doesn’t seem completely fair,” I venture, thinking of Callum’s family, the McAndrews: how Dan had been due to inherit everything just because he was born a few minutes before Callum, his twin brother. Like winning the jackpot, completely by chance.
“It’s how it works in Britain, Scarlett,” my grandmother says, looking at me seriously. “In the old families, everything is held for the most senior member of the next generation. The title, the estate. It means that the ancestral homes are passed on with enough land and inheritance to maintain them. That’s why we still have so many beautiful stately homes—look at Chatsworth, or Castle Howard. They are intact because they passed down from the oldest son to the oldest son, without being split up between the rest of the family.” She touches the pearl necklace she always wears. “Even this is a family heirloom,” she adds. “Held in trust, to be passed down to the next generation. I couldn’t sell it even if I wanted to.”
“So if I had a younger brother, he’d inherit Wakefield Hall,” I say. “And he’d have the title, while I don’t.”
“The baronetcy can only be inherited by a male,” my grandmother, who’s Lady Wakefield because she married Sir Alexander Wakefield, confirms.
“That isn’t fair either,” I say. “I just mean, if Aunt Gwen was upset about it, I do sort of understand.”
My grandmother reaches out to squeeze my hand again.
“I’m used to the way things were always done,” she says quietly. “It’s hard for an old dog to learn new tricks, Scarlett. But a truly good parent, or grandparent, hopes that their descendants will improve on how they lived their lives. If you don’t think it’s fair—and poor Gwen may well have felt the same—the remedy is in your hands. You will be able to do what you want with the Hall when you inherit it. If you feel that your youngest daughter, not your oldest son, is the right person to take it over—or if you want your children to share it in a trust—you’ll decide that for yourself.”
My expression must be appalled, because she actually manages a smile as she looks down at me, the first one that I’ve seen on her face today.
“You should see yourself when I talk about children you may have,” she says, her eyes brighter now. “Utterly horrified! Don’t worry, Scarlett. I’m much more interested in your educational than your reproductive prospects.” She sighs. “And, of course, your immediate residential ones.”
I’m still working through this as she adds:
“You can’t stay on in the gatehouse by yourself, of course. Not that I imagine you’d want to.”
I hadn’t even thought about where I would live now, with Aunt Gwen gone. The idea of being on my own in her house, fending for myself, is overwhelming; for a moment I picture myself staying there by myself, with Jase visiting me, and although maybe that should be exciting, the image is actually more scary. Too much, too soon.
“I don’t think I could manage,” I say honestly. “There’s so much responsibility in running a house. I mean, I can wash my own clothes, but …”
I think about doing the shopping, running out of things I always forget, like dishwashing tablets, cream scrub for the bath, that mildew spray Aunt Gwen was always nagging me to use in the shower.… It isn’t glamorous, it’s frightening. After the unbelievably dramatic year I’ve had, I just want to be a nearly-seventeen-year-old for a while. By which I mean, as entirely irresponsible as possible.
“Especially with exams to do,” I say nervously. I feel as if I’m being a coward, but when I look at my grandmother, she’s nodding sympathetically.
“I’m very keen on young people taking responsibility,” she says, “but it would be absurd for you to be suddenly catapulted into adult life. I think the best solution is for you to live in the dormitory wing during term time, with the other students. If you move in there now, that will give us enough time to plan a set of rooms for you here in the Hall with me. They’ll be yours in the holidays, for as long as you want them. You know I’m hoping that you’ll eventually make your home here, Scarlett. This will be the first real step to making that happen.”
“Thank you,” I manage to say.
“We’ll put you on the same floor as Taylor McGovern in the dormitory wing,” my grandmother adds. “I know you two are close.”
I nod, overwhelmed.
“You’ve been through much too much in this last year,” my grandmother says. “More than any sixteen-year-old should have to cope with. But I think you have an old head on young shoulders, Scarlett.”
She utters these words very firmly; she sounds like the Lady Wakefield I’ve known, and been intimidated by, forever. But when I glance at her, I read doubt in her gaze for the first time, as if she’s trying to convince herself.
“I’ll be okay, Grandma,” I assure her. “I really will.”
She heaves a deep sigh, one that seems pulled up from the very soles of her feet.
“I hope and pray you will, my dear,” she says very gently. “Now why don’t you go and find Taylor, and start to move your things over to your new room in school? And have a think about what you want to keep from the gatehouse. Any piece of furniture you want, make a list and give it to Penny. But you might want to have a whole fresh start—leave it all behind. It’s entirely as you wish.” She smiles. “I have plans for that house.”
And then she reaches out to me, takes my face in both hands, and kisses me on each cheek.
“I love you very much, Scarlett,” she says softly. “I never want you to have a moment’s doubt of that.”
I leave her study with my head reeling. Lady Wakefield, my grandmother, actually showed emotion in my presence. She cried in front of me. She talked about her feelings. She talked about what I wanted, as if I were a real human being. She acted like a grandmother.
I’ve lost an aunt who hated me, and found a grandmother who loves me instead.
I can live with that.