The House Called Edenhythe

Buckingham

Chapter One

The house they called Edenhythe was another three miles upriver, he said. I was on the final lap of my long, uncomfortable journey half-way across the world.

Night had already fallen, and the Thames was shrouded in dense fog, unfamiliar to me, and eerie. I could see almost nothing ahead as the steam launch fumbled cautiously through the gloom, its engine pulsing slowly.

Now and again I glimpsed the diffused yellow glow of a gas lamp on the nearer bank; and once the brilliance of a flare where lightermen worked on a barge anchored in mid-stream.

I shivered, drawing my cape about my shoulders. Even in the shelter of the cabin I could feel the dank cold eating into me.

This was indeed a bleak and dismal return to my native land. Not that it felt much like a homecoming, since I had no memories of the England I had left as a tiny child, twenty years ago. To me Sarawei was home. Lovely, tropical Sarawei. Primitive Sarawei. It was the only life I had known.

Luke Harwood, sitting beside me on the leather-upholstered bench, had noticed my instinctive shudder.

"Are you cold, Rachel?’ he asked sympathetically. ‘We always keep some brandy on board, if that would help.’

It was no wonder he felt sorry for me. From the little he could see in the glimmer of the cabin’s swinging oil lamp, I must have looked a poor wan creature. I had suffered almost continual sea-sickness throughout the eight weeks voyage. I was longing for this weary travelling to come to an end.

I refused the brandy. ‘No thank you, Luke.’

‘Are you quite sure? It might buck you up.’

I shook my head.

‘I think I will though, if you don’t mind.’

Luke reached over to a small cupboard and produced a bottle and glasses. He splashed out two generous measures, then stood up and opened the hatchway door.

‘Here, Dan,’ he shouted, holding up a glass.

A deep throaty voice came back. ‘Ta, guv.’

‘It’s colder still for Daniel Dobbs up there,’ Luke remarked, as he closed the door and sat down again.

I had met our helmsman when I had transferred to the launch as soon as the Sarawei Queen had docked. A vast man in an enormous reefer jacket, Daniel Dobbs had reached up and lifted me bodily to the deck of the smaller boat with only the most trivial effort.

Watching Luke sipping his brandy, I shivered again. This time, though, it was not so much the cold. Luke’s oddly nervous way of twirling the short-stemmed glass in his fingers had stabbed a vivid memory of Jonathan. My dead husband Jonathan.

But certain resemblances between cousins were only natural, I reminded myself. It was something I must be prepared for, now that I was meeting Jonathan’s family for the first time.

Echoing my own thoughts, Luke said, ‘I’m afraid we know so little about you, Rachel. Had you been living in Borneo for long before you married Jonathan?’

‘Almost all my life. My father took me out to Sarawei in 1884. My mother had just died in rather tragic circumstances, and he wanted to break away from the life that constantly reminded him of her.’

There was a small, compassionate pause. Then Luke went on, probingly, ‘Your father was a civil engineer by profession, I believe?’

That was true, but it gave an incomplete picture of the man my father had been. I smiled, remembering.

‘You could almost say that he was a civil engineer by dedication. He was an ardent idealist, and believed passionately that improved communications—roads and railways and bridges—would bring much-needed prosperity to the people of Sarawei.’

‘A very laudable philosophy, I’m sure.’

I immediately suspected irony, having so often defended my father against the charge of otherworldliness. But Luke seemed to be perfectly serious.

‘What made him choose to go to Borneo? And why that particular part? Sarawei is savage territory, by all accounts.’

‘He had known the Rajah as a young man. They were at Oxford together, as a matter of fact.’

‘What an odd coincidence!’ Luke remarked. ‘That’s exactly how the present Rajah’s father and my grandfather met-—they too were at Oxford together. It was on the strength of their friendship that my grandfather secured the sole concession to trade in spices from Sarawei. With that in his pocket he was able to establish a very lucrative business for Harwoods.’

‘My father’s attitude was never in the least commercial,’ I said, bristling a little. ‘His one aim was to do good in this world. In his own words—to leave it a better place than he had found it.’

Luke put down his glass, and said with a flicker of surprise, ‘You appear to regard trade in a highly unfavourable light, Rachel.’

‘Oh, but please—I didn’t mean...’ Too late, I realised how priggish I must have sounded.

There was a low chuckle from Luke, giving sudden warmth to his voice. It was Jonathan all over again. ‘You are a very loyal sort of person, I think.’

I stayed silent, still embarrassed. The only sound in the cabin was the steady pulsing of the engine.

Luke said gently, ‘These last months must have been a very sad time for you, Rachel. First to lose your father, and then, so soon after your marriage, to lose your husband too.’ He stared through the cabin window into the still thickening fog. ‘I believe Jonathan mentioned in a letter that your father died from typhoid?’

‘Yes, he picked it up on one of his surveying trips into the interior. Jonathan was very kind to me at that time. He was a great help and comfort.’

‘You couldn’t have known him for long, though. Surely my cousin had only just arrived in Sarawei?’

‘A month or so at most. Jonathan and I had met once or twice at the houses of friends, that’s all.’

‘And how did Jonathan himself come to die?’ Luke said abruptly, turning quickly to meet my eyes.

I looked away, thrown into sudden, painful confusion. This was a question I had asked myself over and over again. A question to which I had found no complete answer. I stared down at my gloved hands, gripped tensely on my lap. Beside me, Luke waited patiently while I calmed down.

From the muffled silence of the fog-bound river, I heard a tug hooting. Three quick stabs of strident sound. Our launch answered with a single mournful boom.

At last I said in a low voice, ‘Jonathan’s death was assumed to have been an accident.’

‘Assumed? Wasn’t that established for certain?’

I raised my eyes and looked at him unhappily. ‘Jonathan died from a bullet wound in the head—I believe you knew that already. His ... his body was found in the garden of our house in Port Sarawei. There was no evidence to suggest foul play, and since one of his own guns was lying beside him …

Luke jumped on my words. ‘One of his own guns? What do you mean by that?’

‘He had two or three revolvers, and a rifle as well. I always disliked the idea of him keeping the things in the house, but he insisted there was no danger.’

‘Where did he get these guns? Did he tell you?’

His questions seemed pointless to me. And unkind, too. My memories were dreadful enough to bear, without this sharp interrogation, to remind me of every agonising detail.

‘I can only suppose,’ I said dully, ‘that Jonathan must have bought them somewhere.’

‘Is it so easy to buy guns in Sarawei, then?’

‘I—I don’t know.’

My answer seemed to dissatisfy him. ‘But surely? You must have known a great deal more about local conditions than Jonathan?’

"In some ways, I suppose I did.’

‘No doubt you were able to introduce him to the people who mattered out there? I expect you were a big help to him.’

It had been a sore point that my husband, unlike my father, refused to share his professional life with me. I had known that there were many worrying problems in his business affairs, but Jonathan had insisted on keeping them packed away in a separate compartment.

Not caring to admit to any chink in my marriage I said evasively, ‘The people I knew best, the ones my father had known, were not really in the trading community.’

‘Indeed? Who were they, then?’

‘Oh, all sorts of people,’ I said, trying to speak lightly. ‘A very mixed bag.’

We fell silent. Presently Luke took a cigar case from his breast pocket. He selected a cheroot, lit it and smoked for a moment before recollecting himself.

‘I say, I’m most awfully sorry. Do you object to this?’

‘Not at all,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I am quite used to men smoking. I rather enjoy the aroma of tobacco.’

It was true. It had been true. But why, in heaven’s name, did Luke have to choose the one particular brand that Jonathan had always smoked? They were made in Sarawei—a small peasant industry not a mile from our old home. A little reflection explained the reason for them being Luke’s choice, too. The Harwood spice business was almost exclusively concerned with Sarawei, so what more sensible than for the family to patronise other local products?

If I were ever to be happy at Edenhythe, I should have to learn to live with such poignant reminders.

I heard a long loud hail coming across the water. It sounded like a challenge.

Daniel Dobbs bellowed his reply. ‘Harwoods’ Dolphin ‘ere.’

Luke grinned at me. ‘That’s the river police patrolling. They’re always a bit edgy in thick weather. God knows what must be going on in the London docks tonight.’

‘You mean, pilfering from the barges, and that sort of thing?’

‘And worse. In a fog like this you could get away with murder.’

He was joking, of course, but I couldn’t help a shudder.

Luke added quickly: ‘Don’t worry, Rachel. You’re completely safe aboard a Harwood boat. We are a highly respected firm, you know.’

A highly respected firm, indeed. Others, presumably, didn’t know what I knew about Harwoods. Though Jonathan had been curiously reticent about the firm and family whose name he bore, what little he had chosen to say was harshly derogatory. In fact, only Luke had fully escaped Jonathan’s condemnation. Luke he had always referred to as ‘a pretty decent chap’.

Concerning Esmond Harwood, Luke’s elder brother, who controlled the firm, Jonathan’s picture had been black indeed. My husband had felt a strong dislike and contempt for this cousin. I could remember him saying once, in the bitter tone he reserved for Esmond, ‘It was only because he knew I was the better man that he got me packed off to this God-forsaken hole.’

It had grieved me that Jonathan held such a low opinion of the country I regarded as my homeland. But I loved my husband, and told myself I could not expect that his views would invariably coincide with mine.

Jonathan, I’d determined, must always come first. So swallowing the hurt, I’d said mildly, "If you dislike this country so very much, then we must leave it. Now that Father is dead, there’s really nothing to keep me here. Harwoods will have to appoint another local manager, and you can return to England.’

‘And what do you suggest I should do, back in London?’ he asked with a flash of scorn.

‘You are one of the family, Jonathan. Surely you must have some share in Harwoods?’

He laughed bitterly. ‘There’s no justice in this hard world, my love. Just before my pater’s death, that devious cousin of mine tricked the old man into handing over his entire interest in the firm. So now I am merely an employee, an outsider, dependent upon Esmond’s merest whim.’

He had said no more on the subject. And within a week of that conversation, Jonathan was dead.

I had heard a shot coming from the garden, and presumed he was practising with the guns I so much hated. But I’d become anxious in the long silence that had followed, and went out to look for him. He was lying on the path beside the cedar tree, his body in a twisted heap. Within moments he had died, without speaking a word to me.

While deep in the first shock of grief there had come another devastating blow. I learned that my situation was now truly desperate. It seemed a bitter paradox that the death of the man I loved should force me to leave the country I loved. And more bitter still that I must accept charity from the cousin Jonathan had so much despised— an invitation to come to England and stay at Edenhythe, extended in coldly grudging terms by Esmond Harwood.

Braced for my first encounter with Esmond, it was a relief to find his younger brother had come to meet me off the ship. I believed I’d already found a friend in Luke. In spite of his rather sharp interrogation just now, he seemed kindly disposed towards me. So far, there had been no opportunity to observe his features clearly, but in the faint yellow gleam of the lamp, his face appeared pleasant and cheerful.

I said impulsively, ‘Jonathan always spoke very highly of you, Luke.’

‘That was jolly decent of him’ More seriously, he went on, ‘You will find my grandmother is sympathetic, Rachel. She was fond of Jonathan—in her own way.’

I found this comforting, despite Luke’s qualification. But was he warning me to expect the reverse of sympathy from his brother?

‘Is Esmond head of the firm?’ I asked cautiously. I knew the answer, of course, but felt that a more personal question would reveal too much of my thoughts and my fears.

Luke’s reply told me a good deal about his brother. He said flatly, ‘Esmond is very much head of the firm. I am permitted to dabble in some of the less important aspects.’

‘Like escorting me to Edenhythe,’ I put in swiftly, and immediately regretted my rudeness.

Luke protested. ‘My dear Rachel... !’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m under no illusions about my own importance, you know. I come to Edenhythe as a poor relation—and that only by marriage.’

‘You have come to Edenhythe as my cousin Jonathan’s wife,’ he said staunchly. ‘That means a great deal.’

I was very contrite. ‘Thank you, Luke.’

He rested a hand lightly upon my shoulder. ‘I can assure you, Rachel, it means a very great deal indeed—to me.’

There was a thumping of heavy feet on the deck above us as the launch bumped and juddered to a stop. Luke stood up, buttoned his greatcoat and picked up his trilby hat.

‘We have arrived, Rachel,’ he said. ‘We are home.’

Rising, I felt suddenly dizzy, my legs nearly giving way under me. It was not the same sickness that had plagued me throughout the long sea voyage, but something new— a tense feeling of apprehension. My past life was far behind me,