The Silver Link

by Claire Lorrimer

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

Until her father died, Adela Carstairs had lived in a secure and loving home. Then happiness was shattered when her mother remarries a cruel, hard-drinking man. With her younger brother and sister, Adela is forced to flee his drunken rages and they escape to London where they seek refuge in the squalor of the back streets. Addie's desperate hope is that her childhood companions, the Mallory twins, will find and rescue them. When all three find themselves caught up in the danger and terror of revolutionary France, the twins prove invaluable. It was to be an experience which would test their friendship, and love, to the limit.

Release date: April 10, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 576

Sample

“THERE are times, my darling Nadine, when I find myself wishing that I had never married you! If I had only known …”

“Then I give thanks to God that you could not see into the future!”

Sir Matthew Carstairs’ young wife ran to her husband’s side and kneeling down, took both his hands in hers and leant her cheek against his. Her dark eyes were filled with love — and a pity she could not disguise.

The man lying on the wicker day-bed gave a deep sigh as he raised his hand to stroke the silky ringlets that hung in soft clusters to Nadine’s white shoulders. At thirty she was even more beautiful than she had been as a young girl when he had first met and fallen in love with her. Two years later he had brought her back to England from her home in Normandy and the idyll of their married life had begun. Theirs had been a wild, passionate union, resulting quickly in the birth of their first child, Adela — a little girl with as wild and passionate a nature as the love that had conceived her.

Sir Matthew’s blue eyes clouded with renewed distress as he recalled how eagerly they had both anticipated the next child, hopefully the son Nadine wanted but was never to have. A year after Adela’s birth, he had set sail for America with his regiment. The following year, during a bitter encounter with the American troops fighting for their independence from Great Britain, he had sustained injuries so severe that he had been rendered immobile from the waist down.

At first Nadine, aided by his physicians, had convinced him that, given time, he might recover the use of his legs, but gradually, as his general health had begun to improve, they allowed him to hear the truth — he would be bedridden for the remainder of his life.

Not yet in his forties, Sir Matthew was devastated by the thought that not only would he never soldier again, but he would never again be able to make love to the wife he adored. Recalling all too clearly how eagerly Nadine had responded to this aspect of their marriage, he could not bring himself to believe that he was to be denied the pleasures of married life, or that Nadine too must also be deprived; and, moreover, that they would never be able to add to their family. As so many times before, Nadine tried now to comfort him when such feelings became too great to keep to himself.

“Can you not see in my face how entirely happy and content I am?” she enquired, turning to look directly into his eyes. “You should not torment yourself in this unnecessary fashion, my dearest. I love you with all my heart and I know that you love me. Is that not enough? I am entirely happy here in Sussex with you and Adela and our friends. You indulge my every wish and I lack for nothing I could want.”

Sir Matthew’s voice was low and rough with pain as he said meaningfully, “Does your body never crave for more than kisses and caresses, my lovely Nadine? Look over there beneath the mulberry tree! See how your brother has his arm around Camille’s waist; how they look into each other’s eyes! Tonight he will hold her, embrace her as once I could hold you! And see, too, how her body swells. Your sister-in-law is with child again and I can give you no more children. Better I should have died of my wounds and you be free to marry a man worthy to be called your husband!”

Nadine rose swiftly to her feet, her white skin colouring a deep pink as she protested, “I will not listen to you speaking in this fashion again. It is you I love, Matthew, and even as you are, I would rather share my life with you than with one of a thousand other virile men who might get me with child. What nonsense you speak, my dearest. As for children, I am happy enough with our darling Adela. Though she be a little minx on occasions, I see so much of you in her. She may have my looks but she has inherited your character — even Hugo has remarked upon her courage. She is quite fearless — and for a child only six years old, she is quick enough in her intelligence to keep pace with her cousins.”

The indignation in her voice gave way to one of indulgent amusement as she added, “See there, my darling — that is our Adela climbing to the top of the tree. Nou-Nou is sending Titus — or perhaps it is Barnaby — to fetch her down!”

Successfully diverted, Sir Matthew turned his head to stare out across the expanse of green grass to the big oak tree some fifty yards distant. He could see his small daughter, dark hair tumbling down the back of her muslin frock, white frilly petticoat in full evidence as she reached upwards for a still higher branch in the tree. Some fifteen feet below stood Nadine’s old French nourrice — the nurse who had come from France with her beloved mistress when Nadine had married him. Gazing up were Parson Mallory’s identical twin boys, Titus and Barnaby, six years older than his daughter, together with their younger sister, Patience, her frequent playmates.

One of the boys was even now starting to climb after little Addy but, as always, it was impossible to tell, even at close quarters, one twin from the other. Both had thick, wavy, fair hair and deep brown eyes — a combination of colouring inherited from their maternal grandmother. Even at their present youthful age of twelve, the boys were already as tall as their mother and matched the height of their rotund, chubby father who had not only proved his worth as a splendid choice of parson for the parish of Dene, but was an excellent neighbour. Since his own wounding in the war, the man had become a personal friend, spending as much time as he could spare at the big house, playing games of chance or chess or in long intellectual discussions about the war, politics, religion.

Reverend the Honourable Leonard Mallory was, like himself, a highly educated man, the youngest son of a family no less noble than his own, and Sir Matthew was grateful for the frequent diversions he provided. Nadine, too, seemed to welcome the companionship of the man’s gentle, sweet-natured wife and frequently accompanied Mrs Mallory on her visits to the poor or sick parishioners. Not least of these advantages of such neighbours was the fact that the parsonage was only a mile distant and little Adela was as much at home with the Mallory children and as often there, as the younger Mallory children were at Dene Place. The twins idolized Nadine, whose beauty far outshone that of their own rather plain mother; and Nadine, without sons of her own, acquired great pleasure from their company.

As sometimes happened when he found himself in a trough of despair, Sir Matthew now chided himself for his self-pity, realizing that he had a great deal to be thankful for. He loved Dene Place, the great, grey stone building that was his family home and had been so for the past two hundred years. It was still possible when the weather was not too inclement, for him to be carried out to one of the carriages for drives round the beautiful Sussex countryside with Nadine and Adela beside him; and, in the summer, to reach the sea-port of Rye where the fresh salt air of the English Channel mingled with the scents of the trees and flowers growing in the cottage gardens and hedgerows. They would halt the carriage to watch for a while the comings and goings of the fishing boats, and this past year, the billowing white sails of the Mallory boys’ sailing boat — a much-treasured gift for their eleventh birthday from their wealthy grandfather, a former naval commander.

Although Nadine showed concern for the boys’ safety when they took to the seas, Mrs Mallory had no such fears, for they were always accompanied by Jacques, their lackey, groom, valet and watchdog — a veritable sovereign of a servant whose loyalty to and affection for the twins was unsurpassable. The fellow was Nadine’s contemporary and his mother, Nou-Nou, had been nursing Jacques when she had been called upon to wet-nurse Nadine. Although they were of French nationality, neither servant had thought to remain in their own country when Nadine came to England and, although Nou-Nou had stayed in her mistress’ service to become nurse to Adela, Sir Matthew had his own English servants at Dene Place and he had found the present position for Jacques with the Mallorys. By the time the boys were six years old, Jacques had taught them to ride and later to fish, to shoot, to become accomplished with the bow and arrow, and now to sail a boat. Nou-Nou’s husband had been a matelot who had taught his son the ways of the sea, lessons Jacques had not forgotten although his father had been drowned before Jacques had reached maturity.

“Oh, mon Dieu!”

Nadine’s sudden cry, spoken in French as was her custom when emotionally disturbed, brought Sir Matthew’s thoughts back to the present. Following his wife’s pointing finger, he could see his little daughter hanging perilously from a high branch from which she had clearly lost her foothold. On a lower branch one of the twins was reaching upwards and had hold of her skirt. Nou-Nou and young Patience Mallory were screaming.

Unaware of her parents’ agonized fears for her safety, Adela clung more tightly to the branch with her aching arms, confident that in a moment or two she would be rescued. Near by, one of the twins called out in a reassuring voice, “No need to be frightened, Addy! Jacques and your cousins are fetching the hammock to hold beneath you. They will be back at any minute. Just hold tight!”

“I am holding tight and I am not in the least frightened!” Adela declared untruthfully, for she would have died rather than admit her fear to the boys. In fact, her arms were aching dreadfully and the ground seemed horribly far below.

Titus shifted his grip from her skirt to her round, white-stockinged leg, wondering if he would have the strength to take her weight if she did fall. At least she was not panicking as was his young sister, Patience. So, too, were Addy’s four French cousins who were even now staring up with horrified faces, the eldest, Eugénie, looking as if she were about to have the vapours!

With a sigh of relief, Titus saw the short, bandy-legged figure of the faithful Jacques hurrying towards them with his swaying gait. It was only when he was on horseback that the good-natured fellow managed to look all-of-a-piece. Barnaby now took hold of one end of the hammock. With the de Falence cousins holding the sides and Jacques the other end, there was now a safety net spread beneath Addy’s small figure.

“Jump, Miss Adela!” shouted Jacques. “Let go of the branch and jump!”

For a moment, Addy hesitated. Suppose the hammock was not strong enough to support her? Suppose she hit the ground and was killed? She did not in the least want to die — especially not today when she was so very happy. Not only had Patience and the twins come to play but her beloved French cousins were on a long summer visit, and all manner of exciting entertainments were planned for them.

“Do as you are told, Addy! You will be perfectly safe!”

Titus’ voice, warm and reassuring, gave her the spur of courage she needed. Closing her eyes, she let go of the branch to which she had now been clinging for nearly five minutes, and fell.

Although the hammock did not break, her weight was sufficient for it to sag drastically, bouncing her once into the air, and as she hit it a second time, to allow her to bump uncomfortably hard against the ground. For a few moments, she lay still, partially stunned and totally winded. She recovered her senses to see Barnaby staring anxiously down at her.

“Are you all right, Addy? You have not broken anything?”

“She be right as rain, surely!” Jacques said picking her up and dusting her down. In the seven years he had lived with the Mallorys in England, he had acquired a good grasp of English flavoured with a Sussex accent and idioms he had picked up from the other servants. His freckled face was creased in a broad grin mingled with affection as the colour returned to the little girl’s face. “Take more’n a bump to make you cry, eh, Miss Addy?”

Biting back the tears of shock pricking the backs of her eyes, Adela tossed her curls and lifted her chin.

“I cannot think why you are all staring at me!” she said. “As a matter of fact, I liked falling. I felt like a bird flying down from the top of the tree!”

“Devil take it, Addy, you were nowhere near the top of the tree! As to flying like a bird — you dropped like a stone!”

Titus’ voice, gently deriding, brought the tears perilously close again. If there was anything in the world she desired, it was the twins’ admiration — and here was Titus berating her for her fib! She supposed it was Titus, not Barnaby, although, as always, she could never be sure. Even their own mother could not tell one twin from the other and they did not make it easier since they often pretended the other’s identity.

But now her cousins were hugging and kissing her, telling her in their voluble French, how brave she was. Eugénie, at fourteen, was the eldest; her brother, Philippe, two years younger. Louise, the delicate one, was a youthful eleven and Marguerite only a year older than Adela. Although the four children spoke English, they did so haltingly and since Adela, with her French mother and nurse, was bilingual, they slipped quite naturally into the French language.

“You must come straight away to your bed and lie down, my precious!” Nou-Nou was saying as she fussed over her small charge like an anxious mother hen. “You must carry her, Jacques, the poor little angel!”

“For pity’s sake, Nou-Nou, stop fussing!” Adela protested, pushing the old woman’s hands away. “I do assure you I have suffered no injury. And do not dare tell Mama or Papa I fell, else I shall be punished for climbing the tree and you and Jacques will be punished also for permitting it!”

The twins shot each other an admiring glance, marvelling at the quick-thinking of this high-spirited child who, whenever she could, followed them round like an adoring puppy. They found her mischievousness amusing and tolerated her as they did not their young sister. Patience was a nervous, timid little girl, prone to tears when they teased her and disinterested in their boyish pursuits. Addy, though fractionally younger, was fearless and always ready to join in any adventure. She was, however, too familiar a playmate to sustain their interest for long. Both twins were old enough at twelve to be aware of the extraordinary beauty of the eldest of Adela’s French cousins.

Although it would be two years yet before Eugénie de Falence would be of marriageable age, already she was attracting the glances of the opposite sex. Dark haired, with skin as white as porcelain, her large grey eyes fringed with curling black lashes, she was the epitome of feminine beauty. Her tiny, slim figure had this past year developed the curves of womanhood and the Mallory twins were already hopelessly enamoured of her. In clumsy, boyish fashion, they vied with one another for her attention, seeking ways to show off their not inconsiderable accomplishments, delighting when they succeeded in evoking a smile and oblivious to the fact that the young girl was playing one against the other. But newly conscious of her ability to arouse such open adoration, she was happily experimenting with the heady powers of flirtation.

Aware that the boys were no longer paying her any attention, Adela scowled and linked her arm through that of her youngest cousin, Marguerite.

“If you would care to accompany me, it is time for me to go and feed my pet lamb!” she said. “It was one of several orphans and Papa has allowed me to have sole care of it. I have called her Twinkle and I have to give her milk from our nanny goat four times a day.”

“Shall we come with you, Addy?” the boys asked in unison, for although they had many pets — dogs, cats, ponies and a talking parrot from Africa — they did not have a home farm. Whenever they walked the short distance from the parsonage to Dene Place, they never failed to visit the farm, begging rides on one of the big, heavy shire-horses, collecting brown, speckled eggs from the hen-house or carrying the heavy pails of swill for the fat, pink pigs. In the summer they rode the hay carts and carried ale to the sweating corn-cutters or cooled themselves in the dairy where the farmer’s wife churned the thick, yellow butter. Adela, with a perspiring Nou-Nou scurrying in her wake, was their ever present shadow. As often as not the little girl would successfully evade her nurse’s vigilance, and it would fall to the twins to make sure she came to no harm — no mean feat since she thought nothing of climbing into a nursing sow’s pen to stroke the squalling little bodies of the piglets, or of feeding sugar to the big white stallion who had once come close to killing a groom to whom he had taken a dislike. She seemed to have a special affinity with the animals, even the most ill-tempered tolerating her. It was the same with people. Her bright, quick smile and ready laughter brought affection in response, and her parents adored her. Sir Matthew Carstairs doted on his only child and although Nadine did likewise, she was too wise to permit the little girl to become too spoilt, not an easy task since every member of the household loved her for her bright, sunny nature.

Titus was the elder of the twins by a mere half-hour, although as he had been born at a quarter to midnight and Barnaby at a quarter past, their birthdays were a day apart. Perhaps because of this, Titus was the more dominant of the two. Only by watching the boys at play was it sometimes possible for their parents to distinguish one from the other since it would more often be Titus who led whilst Barnaby followed. There was little difference, however, in their physical strength or in their choice of pursuits or activities, or, indeed, in their choice of friends. Now, for the first time in their lives, they found themselves in the company of a beautiful young French girl who aroused in them similar stirrings of masculine awareness. Adela’s cousin, Eugénie, had made slaves of them both and when it was suggested that she might accompany Adela and her sister to the farm to see Adela’s pet lamb, the twins vied with one another as to which of them should escort her.

Adela listened to their entreaties with a frown of displeasure. In point of fact, she did not dislike her eldest cousin who she also thought very beautiful; but she did dislike the way Titus and Barnaby were fawning upon her. She considered their attentions to her cousin quite silly and, without understanding her own jealousy, was determined that Eugénie should not command their interest if she could not do so herself.

“I have remembered that it is still too early for me to feed Twinkle!” she said, tossing back her dark curls and scuffling the dry grass with the toe of her chamois leather shoe. “I must go and see Papa. He depends upon me to read to him from my story-book each afternoon. He says he enjoys my reading even more than Mama’s!”

This was not strictly true, as well she knew, for not even she could vie with her mother for Papa’s love. Although both her parents professed to love her equally as well as they loved one another, she knew by the way her father’s eyes followed her mother’s every movement and by the way Nadine was forever touching his cheek or holding his hand, that they shared a special closeness which excluded her. For the most part she did not really mind. Above all, she wanted her father to be happy. It saddened her beyond bearing to realize that he would be confined to live without movement for the rest of his life and her greatest consolation was her mother’s assurance that his little daughter’s company always brought her papa great joy and pleasure.

“Childhood is fleeting, my precious, and all too soon you will be grown up and leaving home to marry a handsome young man,” he had once told her. “So I must make the most of the years you are here with me.”

“I shall never leave you, Papa!” Adela had vouchsafed, hugging him passionately. “If I am ever to marry, it shall be to you.”

Her father had laughed.

“That you cannot do, my darling, for I am already married to your dear mother. Besides, I should be much too old a husband for you.”

“Then I shall marry Titus and Barnaby!” Adela had declared. “Then I shall remain close by and shall continue to see you every day!”

“Titus or Barnaby, for you cannot have two husbands any more than I can have two wives!” her father had explained. “You will have to choose between them.”

“And how, pray, can I do that when I cannot tell one from the other?” she had argued.

“It would be difficult, I agree. Perhaps the problem would be solved if one and not the other were to choose you for a wife?”

Adela considered such a prospect unlikely, for the twins shared their tastes as closely as their looks. They wanted identical white ponies; identical lead soldiers; identical quill pens and books. If one wore a red neckcloth the other would do so, and no amount of cajoling from their parents would persuade them otherwise.

“It would make life so much easier for everyone if they would just have a pocket handkerchief that was of a different colour,” the gentle Mrs Mallory once said to Adela. “I did once attempt it when they were younger but they merely exchanged them when my back was turned! If one has been naughty, I am obliged to punish both or neither since they refuse to confess which one is guilty! Your mama is fortunate, Adela, to have only you to manage!”

One of the boys was now regarding Adela with a quizzical look.

“A little while past you said your father had instructed you to accompany your cousins to the garden so that you could all enjoy this bright spring sunshine.”

“Oh, do stay here with us, Adela!” Marguerite cried. “You can read to your papa later, can you not?”

“Why do we not go to see the animals without Adela?” Eugénie said equably. “We should not deprive dear Uncle Matthew of Adela’s company, and the boys have offered to escort us.”

Watching the twins’ eager faces from beneath her lashes, Adela said sharply, “You must not feed Twinkle. Only I can feed her!”

“But of course!” Eugénie said sweetly. “Have no worries, chérie. We will see you later.”

With an air of unconcern belying her true feelings of dismay, Adela turned and walked back across the garden in the direction of the house. Nou-Nou trailed patiently behind her whilst Jacques accompanied the twins and the de Falence children along the rutted cart track leading to the farm. At this moment, Adela thought miserably, there was nothing she would rather be doing than going with them. She could still hear their voices and an occasional burst of laughter. How happy they sounded — and how miserable she was, the more so for knowing that she had brought her isolation upon herself! It was not even as if, try though she might, she could hate Eugénie who was not only beautiful but sweet and kind and gentle like her own mother! If she hated anyone, it was Titus and Barnaby for preferring Eugénie’s company to hers. The boys were her friends, not Eugénie’s!

At least it would only be for three more weeks that she would be obliged to share her friends, she told herself as she neared the house, for the de Falence family would be returning to their home in Paris next month. There was the whole summer ahead of her before the boys departed to their new boarding-school — a prospect she dreaded, although they were eagerly anticipating the new adventure. In all probability, they would spend many days down at Rye sailing their boat — and Papa would not give his consent for her to accompany them no matter how hard she pleaded — but there would be many more days when she would go to the parsonage on her pony to join them for long rides across the surrounding countryside; when they would spend happy hours in the walled garden gathering strawberries and raspberries and gooseberries for Mrs Mallory’s conserves; or they would track badgers and foxes in the beechwoods on the Dene Place estate. There would be days when the twins would come to help with the haymaking; when they would go blackberrying or play croquet in the garden or have picnics in the tree-house the boys had built last summer. There would be wrestling or bowling matches to watch on the village green and maypole dancing, and long hours spent listening to Papa recounting from his newspaper stories of recent battles in the war raging in America. Mama would sit quietly, busy with her embroidery, whilst the boys moved their lead soldiers into the positions Papa indicated; and they would sometimes let Adela move the cannons or the horses if she took care not to upset the battlefield spread out on the stone terrace at their feet.

Comforted by such expectations, Adela had regained her customary good spirits when she entered the long, sunny drawing-room where her father lay on his day-bed by the wide windows overlooking the garden. She ran to his side and hugged him.

“You did not hurt yourself when you fell out of the tree, my darling?” he enquired anxiously, holding her away from him so that he could see her the better.

Adela shook her head.

“Of course not, Papa!” she declared although she was already conscious of numerous bruises to which her pride would not allow her to admit. “I have come to read some more of our story!” she said quickly, twitching her small nose as she leaned over to kiss him and felt the tickling of his wig. His eyes brightened with pleasure.

“Why, Addy, I had not thought to see you this afternoon. Are you not enjoying the company of your cousins?”

“Well, yes, Papa, but they have Titus and Barnaby to entertain them and … and I do not see why I should permit them to spoil our special reading time.”

“That is most thoughtful of you, my darling. I was indeed feeling a little lonely. Your mama has had to leave me to attend to one of the kitchen-maids who has cut her finger, so you have chosen an excellent moment. Let us by all means read for a little while, but then I think we should set aside our ‘special reading time’ whilst your cousins are here so that you may make the most of their company. I have your Uncle Hugo here to entertain me. As you know, he is as keen a chess player as I, and we have much to talk about. You must not, therefore, feel obliged to keep me company, my little one, much as I love to have you with me.”

Whilst the child settled herself in the crook of his arm, he stroked her hair with his other hand, his eyes dark with foreboding. She was immeasurably precious to him, as indeed was his beloved Nadine, and, paralysed though he was, he could still by word of mouth ensure their well-being and their happiness. But for how long? Not even Nadine was aware that his friend and physician had finally admitted that his state of immobility was affecting his internal organs and that he could not rely upon surviving many more years … if, indeed, as long.

In the four years since he had been wounded, the muscles of his once strong body had deteriorated to a point where his legs were little more than pathetic sticks; his weight was dangerously low and that despite the excellent nursing of his faithful attendant and Nadine’s personal supervision of the most nourishing of meals. He hated now to look at himself in a mirror, for his gaunt visage was that of a man twenty years older and his hair had turned completely grey.

Sir Matthew was not afraid of death. Although not a fanatically religious man, he had spent many hours in the company of his friend, the Reverend Leonard Mallory. The parson had strengthened his belief in a life hereafter, and his fear of dying lay only in his dread of leaving his beautiful young wife a widow and his child fatherless. Of late, he had begun to talk to Nadine of a future when he might not be with her and had tried to persuade her to the notion of making a second marriage. Not only was she in her prime but still young enough to bear further children; and he would be leaving her more than well provided for. She would not lack suitors. But even the mildest of suggestions in this vein would bring the tears to her eyes, and her distress was such that he could not bear to be the cause of it. He could but hope that once she was reconciled to his passing, she would remember his wishes for her and find another husband.

Later today he would speak of it to Nadine’s brother, Hugo; enlist his promise to persuade Nadine that, for the child’s sake as well as her own, she must find someone to replace him.

Adela was by now reaching the end of her favourite story in her book of Aesop’s tales. She closed the book and regarded him thoughtfully.

“In that story the son is beautiful and the daughter ugly, yet their father loves them equally. Would others do the same?”

Sir Matthew paused before replying for Adela’s small face was unusually serious and the question unexpected from one so young.

“Most certainly they would, if the ugly child had a beautiful nature, for that is of far greater worth.”

“Why then should Titus and Barnaby prefer Eugénie’s company to mine?” Adela asked, suddenly close to tears.

With difficulty, Sir Matthew concealed a smile of amusement.

“Do they, indeed! Could it be because your cousin is not only beautiful but the possessor of a charming disposition? You must not be jealous of others, my darling, for jealousy is an ugly trait!” Seeing that her tears were about to fall, he relented