“Mrs. Arbuckle likes things just so,” said Cook, putting down her teacup. “She’s genteel. She wasn’t born to it like old Mrs. Arbuckle. Mrs. Arbuckle married it and that’s quite different. Such people are always affected, I think. She minds very much about class and breeding. Fortunately, so she tells me, Fitzroy is from a very good Norfolk family. She knows a cousin of his. He’s, as she puts it, a ‘proper’ person.”
“Mrs. Arbuckle will be happy Alba’s getting married at all, I imagine,” said Verity. Cook was aware that she was fishing for gossip but she was too delighted at the news to resist talking about it.
“Alba’s always been a great worry to her. To both of them. Arriving at the house as she does, with a storm brewing in her eyes. It’s that mother of hers, you see. Those Italians are a fiery lot. Mrs. Arbuckle likes people from her own world and Alba’s never really fitted in. It’ll be a burden off her shoulders. Caroline will be next, mark my words.”
Verity wasn’t the slightest bit interested in Caroline. She stuffed a third scone into her mouth, then steered the conversation back to Alba.
“Don’t you think the captain will be a bit sad to give his daughter away? After all, you’ve often told me that out of all his children, Alba was the most special.”
“I believe so, not that he would ever say such a thing. I see it in his eyes, you know. My Ernie always said that I have the intuition of a witch. She has the power to hurt him in a way that no one else can. It breaks my heart to see him suffer on account of her malice. He gives her everything, everything. That girl has never done a day’s work in her life, thanks to the generosity of the captain. However, the strangest thing happened a while back.” She hesitated. She had sworn not to tell Verity, knowing that it would be passed around the village even before the old vulture had had time to digest it. However, the weight of knowledge was too heavy to bear alone. Verity’s mouth stopped midchew and she sat very straight. Cook wished she hadn’t started. But then, she reasoned to herself, she’d only tell Verity the good bits. “A letter arrived from Alba,” she stated.
“A letter?”
“Addressed to the captain. I recognized her handwriting and the Italian postmark.”
Verity washed the scone down with tea. “And?”
“Well, he went into his study to read it. I was busy in the drinks cupboard so I could see his expression as he read it. It was long, pages and pages in her large, careless writing. I could see through the paper that she had done a lot of crossing out.”
“You were quite close then?”
“Very. The captain didn’t even notice I was there, so engrossed was he in the contents of the letter.”
“What did it say?”
Cook sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know, but when he had read it he was transformed.”
Verity looked puzzled. “How?”
“Well, he looked younger.”
“Younger?”
“Yes. And happier. Gone were those dark circles under his eyes. If you ask me, there was something in the letter that gave him back his youth.”
“Honestly, Edith, you’re exaggerating.”
“I most certainly am not. It was most peculiar. It was as if he let something go. Something heavy and sad. He just let it go.”
“Then what?”
“He just sat there, rubbing his chin and staring up at the portrait of his father that hangs on the wall.”
“His father?”
“Yes, old Mr. Arbuckle. I don’t know what he was thinking about, but he sat there a long time, just thinking.”
“What do you think the letter said?” asked Verity, bringing her teacup to her lips with a loud slurp.
“Well, I heard Mrs. Arbuckle and the captain talking in the sitting room some time afterward. I was in the hall, you see, laying up for dinner. When it’s just the two of them they often like to eat there, on the refectory table.”
“Yes, yes, what did they say?”
“Well, they spoke in hushed voices. I think they knew I was out there; they could hear me clanking around, you see. It’s hard to keep the cutlery quiet. So they spoke carefully and I didn’t pick it all up. I heard the sentence, ‘Alba now knows the truth.’ Then he said with some jubilation, ‘She apologized.’ That struck me, you see, because I don’t imagine Alba’s ever apologized for anything in her life.”
Verity frowned. “Apologized for what? What truth?” Cook felt herself grow hot. Enough, she said to herself. You’ve told Verity enough. Verity’s face was uncomfortably close to her own. It was no good. It was all going to come out.