Helen choked. ‘Are you accusing me of——’
‘I’m not accusing you of anything,’ he cut in shortly. ‘Just don’t expect those of us who cared about the old lady to feel much sympathy for you. You didn’t care about her. You almost broke her heart.’
Helen was speechless. She wanted to protest. She wanted to scream at him that she hadn’t broken her grandmother’s heart, he had; but the words wouldn’t come. The awful choking sobs were filling her throat again, and it was as well he could not hear them. She didn’t need anything from him, least of all his sympathy. She would suffer her grief in private, not in the company of the man who had done more than anyone else to reinforce the rift between them. He must know it. He must know how she despised him. Yet he could sit there and accuse her of not caring. It wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t fair!
The Range Rover crested the rise and now the lights of the house were spread out below them. Even through the driving veil of snow, it was painfully familiar, and she remembered the first time she had seen Castle Howarth. Nan had brought her back here, after her parents’ funeral, and although she had been shocked, and a little tearful, her grandmother had quickly made her feel at home. Nan had always made her feel wanted, she acknowledged now, stifling a sob. Although their lives had drifted apart, she had always been there in the background, someone to turn to if things went wrong. For the first time, she wondered if her grandmother had ever felt the same way. And who had she turned to when she needed consolation?
Helen’s uneasy thoughts were interrupted by the realisation that the lights she could see seemed to be coming from the first floor as well as from the ground floor of the house. There were lights, too, in what she knew to be the formal reception rooms and the hall. The whole house seemed ablaze with lights, and her head jerked towards Rafe, seeking an explanation. The main apartments were never used, and someone must have authorised this extraordinary extravagance.
‘The old lady made me promise to open up the house for the funeral,’ he remarked, turning his head to meet her half-accusing gaze, and she saw the challenging glitter of his eyes. ‘There has been a stream of visitors ever since your grandmother died. I guess she knew what would happen, and she wouldn’t have wanted them received in her sitting room, even if that was where she spent most of her time.’
Helen found her voice. ‘Are—are you saying she asked you——’
‘I was there,’ Rafe responded flatly. ‘If you don’t like it, it’s just too bad. The dust-sheets have been removed, and Paget and the rest of the staff have been working themselves rigid trying to get the place in some kind of order before the old lady has to leave.’
Helen swallowed. ‘She’s—I mean—Lady Elizabeth is still in the house?’
‘In the master bedroom, yes. It’s the apartment her parents used. The bed she was born in. But not, regrettably, where she died.’
Helen moistened her lips. ‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ she said tightly.
‘She talked to me,’ Rafe replied without expression. ‘Well—here we are.’ He brought the Range Rover to a halt and switched off the engine. ‘You go ahead. I’ll fetch your things.’
Helen didn’t offer any protest. Now that she was here, the impact of death seemed all around her, and she climbed out of the car with an overwhelming feeling of loss. In spite of the lights burning so brightly in the windows, the house was empty, she thought dully. No false illumination could rekindle her grandmother’s spirit. She had to face the fact that Castle Howarth could never be the same. She had been welcomed here as a child, but she felt like an interloper coming back to claim her inheritance.
She guessed Rafe would expect her to climb the steps to the main doors, but she couldn’t do it. Time enough to stand on ceremony when she had to. Instead, she trudged through the snow to the side entrance she and Nan had always used. Right now, she needed the reassurance of familiar things, and she hoped Miss Paget had not neglected to light a fire in her grandmother’s sitting room.
The west wing curved in a half moon, away from the porticoed façade of the main building. Although the central elevation had three storeys and a castellated parapet, the wing Helen and her grandmother had occupied had only a single level. It was reached through a narrow arched doorway at the far end of the building. The door gave on to a short flight of steps that led up to a central corridor, and the windows of the apartments were at least ten feet from the ground.
Helen cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder before opening the heavy door and stepping inside. Rafe was still sitting in the Range Rover, evidently giving her time to make her entrance, but she found herself wishing he had come with her. It was ridiculous, after all they had said to one another, but Rafe seemed the one remaining link with her grandmother, and although she knew it would pass, right now even his cynical company would have been welcome.
She had reached the top of the steps and was hovering there, one hand still gripping the banister, when the door to the dining room opened and an elderly lady emerged. Small and rather dowdy, her thin, mostly-grey hair cut in its usual severe style, Miss Paget had aged considerably since Helen had last seen her. Yet, it wasn’t so much in her looks or her appearance, which Helen had always privately considered far in advance of her years. It was more in the way she moved, in the stiff, unyielding way she held her body; as if her bones had lost their flexibility and her limbs ached because of it.
She saw Helen at once, though she gave an involuntary start, as if her appearance was not altogether expected. ‘You came!’ she exclaimed, and then, as if realising her words could be misconstrued, she made an effort to recover them. ‘I mean—Rafe found you then. I heard the car, but I thought he was alone.’
‘No, he found me.’ Helen made an effort to keep her tone light. ‘It’s lucky he did. The weather is quite appalling.’
‘Yes.’ Miss Paget nodded. ‘I was just saying to Mrs Pride this morning, it’s just as well Lady Elizabeth isn’t going to be bur—I mean——’ She broke off in obvious confusion. ‘Forgive me. I’m afraid I hardly know what I’m saying.’
‘Oh, Paget!’ Helen made an involuntary movement towards her, but to her dismay the old lady stepped back from her.
‘Please,’ she said, glancing a little apprehensively behind her. ‘I’m sure you must be tired after your journey. Why don’t you go and freshen up? I don’t have to show you where your room is, do I? Your grandmother wouldn’t allow anyone else to use it. I’m sure you’d like some time to wash and,’ her gaze flickered over the vivid orange parka, ‘—and change your clothes. I’ll go and ask Mrs Pride to make you some tea.’
Helen stared at her without moving. ‘Paget,’ she said uneasily. ‘Paget, is something wrong?’ She shook her head. ‘Surely, you don’t believe I didn’t want to come to the funeral?’
‘Of course not.’ But Miss Paget’s denial was just a little too vehement. She pulled the shawl she was wearing closer about her shoulders and forced a faint smile. ‘Look, I must go and tell Mrs Pride you’re here. We’ll have plenty of time for talking later.’
Her retreat was slow and evidently painful, but it was a retreat just the same, and Helen felt a hollowing in her stomach. She stared after the old lady, unwillingly aware that what Rafe had said was true. Until now, she had been unable to believe that Paget had sent that awful telegram. But now she did. They had spoken together like strangers!
‘Do you want these in your room?’
Helen jumped violently at the unexpected sound of Rafe’s voice, and her vocal chords shook a little as she conceded that she did. ‘It—it’s along here,’ she said, avoiding his eyes as she led him to a room at the end of the hall. ‘Or—or do you know that, too?’ she added, a trace