Sommersgate House

Chapter One Hope

That morning Mrs. Kilpatrick had a case of nerves. Mrs. K knew that there was still the possibility that this morning’s imminent arrival would get cold feet. That Julia Fairfax would decide, at the last minute, not to leave her family, her friends, her home, everything she knew, to spend the next thirteen years of her life at Sommersgate House.

Yes, that morning Mrs. Kilpatrick was tense. Her daily girl Veronika was tense. And before he left, Carter, the chauffer, was tense.

Worst of all, the house was tense and make no mistake about it, even though it was simply mortar and stone (albeit grand mortar and stone), Sommersgate could most definitely be tense.

Mrs. Kilpatrick had been working at Sommersgate for the last thirty-seven years, since she was seventeen years old, and she was proud of it. She’d worked her way up from a daily girl to the lofty position of Housekeeper. She knew every nook and cranny of the house, every noise, every creaky floorboard. She knew that house like she knew her own husband, through and through.

She turned and watched as Ruby sat at the massive kitchen table, her blonde curls bobbing while she coloured in her book. Per usual, the child made no attempt to colour in the lines or utilise a flesh-like tone for skin (in this instance, Mrs. Kilpatrick saw, skin was kelly green) or any other colour that would be appropriate (the sky was silver and the grass was purple).

From the moment four years ago when Ruby was placed in Mrs. Kilpatrick’s arms as a babe of no more than a few days, Mrs. Kilpatrick knew there was something unusual about the child. Ruby had spent the next four years proving her right.

As she watched Ruby, Mrs. K heard a car on the drive.

Ruby didn’t hesitate in colouring because she hadn’t lived in Sommersgate long enough to know how to distinguish the various sounds but Mrs. Kilpatrick knew that Carter was home.

She took a deep breath and sighed in relief. If something had gone wrong during the journey from Heathrow, Carter would have called. They were now home and Mrs. K hoped that, with the treasured cargo Carter was delivering today, months of sadness and despair would begin healing.

Maybe even a century of it.

She put a hand to her hair, testing the bounce of her fashionable bob, the old blonde now having streaks of white. She smoothed the front of her skirt down, trying, as ever, to ignore her somewhat protruding belly, flipped on the electric kettle and shot a prayer to heaven that Ms. Julia Fairfax was indeed the answer to all Mrs. Kilpatrick’s prayers. Or, more to the point, Mrs. Kilpatrick’s prayers for little Ruby, Ruby’s older brother William and sister Elizabeth and perhaps, just perhaps, their Uncle Douglas but most especially, Sommersgate House.

“Come along, luv, your Aunt Julia is here.”

At this announcement, Ruby’s head shot up and she ceased colouring immediately. Squealing with delight (a sound so foreign in Sommersgate that it startled Mrs. K), she jumped off the bench and ran out of the kitchen at top speed. She was at the front door, struggling to shift its massive weight when Mrs. Kilpatrick arrived.

“Patience, child. She’s right outside the door. You’ll see her soon enough.”

“Auntie Jewel, I’m in here!” Ruby shouted through the door unnecessarily but Mrs. Kilpatrick doubted the ancient, studded wood with its heavy, black-scrolled, iron hinges would do anything but mute the child’s call.

She unlatched the door and using all her might, pulled it open. Ruby shot out like lightning, ran across the distance and threw herself at the tall woman standing on the gravel drive next to a shining burgundy Bentley.

“My gorgeous baby!” Julia Fairfax cried. Wrapping her arms around the child, she lifted her up and swung her around in a full circle.

Mrs. Kilpatrick took in the scene. Carter had moved to the boot of the Bentley and was watching it too. It was hard not to smile with relief and Mrs. K felt the easing sigh tremble through the very air around Sommersgate.

Mrs. Margaret Kilpatrick had known Julia Elizabeth Fairfax for fifteen years. She’d watched her grow from a young, naive, headstrong girl of twenty-one to a beautiful, sophisticated, even more headstrong woman (so headstrong as to be described as stubborn).

Julia stood in the drive by the gleaming Bentley, which sat next to a glamorous circular fountain. She was swinging her niece, smiling and laughing, looking like she’d been born to stand in the drive of a palatial estate, even though she most definitely had not.

She was very tall, slim but rounded in all the right places. Julia wore an elegant suit of chocolate brown with a fitted pencil skirt and a feminine jacket nipped in at the waist. Her blonde hair was swept up in a chic twist. She was wearing a pair of leopard print, spike heeled pumps and a tawny pashmina dripped casually from her elbows. She didn’t look like she’d spent the last fourteen hours travelling through crowded airports, stuffy airplanes and close cars. She looked fresh and rested, as if she was just headed out to lunch.

“I’m not a baby,” Ruby exclaimed through her giggling struggles.

“You’re my baby, always were, always will be,” Julia stated and kissed the child loudly on her cheek.

Julia bent to let Ruby down and noticed Mrs. Kilpatrick.

Walking forward hand extended, she murmured, “Mrs. K.”

The muscles worked in Mrs. Kilpatrick’s throat as she tried not to cry and she steeled herself for what was to come. Julia Fairfax, and her mother Patricia, were American and didn’t stand on ceremony and had no sense of, or more likely didn’t care much for, the firmly hierarchical way things were at Sommersgate. The lady of the house, Baroness Monique Ashton, hated it when her daughter’s American in-laws would come to visit. They were far too familiar with the servants, amongst other things, many other things.

Julia put her hand on Mrs. Kilpatrick’s arm, squeezed gently and kissed the older woman’s cheek with familiarity and kindness.

“How’s it going, Mrs. K?” she asked, trying to read Mrs. Kilpatrick’s face. At that distance, Mrs. Kilpatrick saw that Julia was not nearly as fresh and relaxed as she’d looked from afar. Her skin was pale and drawn and her green eyes, normally alight with mischief, good humour, or stubborn resolve, looked immensely tired, as if she’d not only been travelling for fourteen hours but as if she hadn’t slept in weeks.

“I’m well, Miss Julia, how was your flight?”

Mrs. K referred to both Julia and Patricia in a less formal way at each woman’s demand. Lady Ashton would never allow Mrs. K any kind of familiarity which would include using their Christian name. Mrs. K firmly refused to call them Jewel and Patty, as she’d been asked to do many a time. In return, Julia and Patricia had firmly refused to answer to Miss Fairfax or Mrs. Fairfax. In the end, they had an unspoken compromise and “Miss Julia” and “Miss Patricia” were born.

Mrs. K disengaged her arm with her own friendly but fleeting squeeze of Julia’s hand and walked the woman into the house as Ruby danced ahead of them. Julia hesitated and looked back at the Bentley. Neither Julia nor Patricia had ever been comfortable with being waited upon, having their bags carried for them, unpacked for them, their laundry done or doors opened for them.

“Don’t worry, Carter will see to your bags,” Mrs. K assured her. “Your flight?”

Julia smiled wearily, giving in gracefully to the gentle reminder of how things were at Sommersgate.

Even though Mrs. Kilpatrick had pulled away from Julia’s grasp, the younger woman linked her arm through Mrs. K’s elbow and walked forward. “I’m glad it’s over, I hate flying.” She looked around her and trembled dramatically. “How’s this dusty old pile of rocks keeping? I see it hasn’t fallen down around your heads… unfortunately.”

Mrs. Kilpatrick shuddered a bit at Sommersgate being talked of like that. On a day as tense as today, a body needed to be careful.

Julia had been a guest on dozens of occasions, dating from before Julia’s brother Gavin had married young Lady Tamsin Ashton and through to last Christmas. Julia had brought her (rather despicable, Mrs. K always thought) husband there before they were married and came back after they were divorced. Mrs. K believed fully in the sanctity of marriage but she’d said a little prayer on the day she found out Julia had become legally untied to that horrible man.

Julia, like many, both loved and hated Sommersgate, but, like few, didn’t have any problem sharing how she felt.

“It’s taken good care of those children,” Mrs. K responded, nodding her head toward Ruby as they exited the long hallway and entered the enormous stairwell with its cavernous gallery, curving staircase ornately carved from granite that four people standing abreast could ascend and its enormous ceiling made entirely of domed glass and embellished wrought iron. Its walls were decorated with dozens of portraits of serious faced ancestors wearing the fashions of the day replete with dripping medals or jewels, depending on the gender.

Julia stopped and looked around, staring at the huge marble fireplace that once heated this space.

“I expect it’s you who have taken good care of those children,” Julia remarked and Mrs. K knew this had more than one meaning. “I just can’t imagine what was in Tammy and Gav’s heads when they demanded the children be brought up here.”

“Miss Tamsin loved this house, as does Ruby,” Mrs. K replied.

Ruby was standing next to Julia looking up at her with sparkling blue eyes and Mrs. K took that opportunity to study the child.

Ruby had taken the last five months surprisingly well, but then, at four years old, how much could she understand about the horrible events that rainy night? It was William, and especially Elizabeth, who had suffered the most.

Julia seemed to realise where she was and what she was saying. She bent low and kissed the top of Ruby’s curls before her eyes returned to the housekeeper.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. K, I’m exhausted. The trip, selling my house, car… the last week has been day after day of going away parties, meals out with friends, finding a place for every last hair pin. It’s been insane.”

Mrs. K understood; the last few months had to be upheaval for Julia. She’d had to give up everything.

She gave Julia a reassuring smile. “I’ve got the kettle on. Let me get you a cuppa. A warm drink always helps. Coffee?”

Julia nodded gratefully and Mrs. K shuffled her into what she knew was Julia’s favourite place at Sommersgate, a smallish room off the grand stairwell that had a tile and flagstone floor and butter-coloured, stone walls. It had wide entryways to both the stairwell and the drawing room and grand, double French windows that lead to the front gardens.

This space was once the entry to the house in the days when horses clattered to the front. Motor cars, and an ancestral baroness who detested them and refused to see them out her front door, had changed the traffic of Sommersgate. She modified the drive to complete at the studded doors at the side, added the fountain and laid the old front drive to gardens. She then altered the huge space within the house to what was now one of the warmest places you could find, literally and figuratively. It held comfortable, button-backed leather couches, chairs and ottomans surrounding another ornate, grand fireplace with sturdy but fine tables here and there on which to lay drinks, trays, books or puzzles, as the case may be.

Of course, no one used the space much, the lord of the manor and his lady mother weren’t the kind who casually wiled away time with games and puzzles.

Mrs. K’s mind moved from the space, back to Julia.

“You wait here. I’ll be back in a snap,” Mrs. K assured her.

She bustled away, hearing Julia’s chic pumps hit the floor one-by-one as she took them off and, in a teasing voice, she addressed Ruby. Listening to Julia, Mrs. K. nearly ran into Veronika who was hiding in the shadows by the dining room

“She arrive safe?” Veronika asked in broken English.

The Russian girl had been at Sommersgate for six months, the longest Mrs. Kirkpatrick had been able to keep a daily for several years, and, for that alone, she cherished the girl. It took an extraordinary amount of time hiring staff, training them in the very specific tasks they had to perform, then losing them and having to hire more.

Veronika not only stayed, but she did a job at which many people would turn up their noses and she did it with pride and unending amounts of energy. Especially these last months when so much more was required of them with the arrival of the children.

“She’s safe, you’ll need to unpack her cases,” Mrs. K informed the girl. “But first, I want you to meet her.” Her orders were voiced kindly but Veronika shrunk into herself and Mrs. K’s heart went out to the girl.

Veronika had not shared much but Mrs. K knew something was not right. She was timid and scared of her own shadow. Monique Ashton unnerved her and Sommersgate House petrified her, both of which weren’t unusual and often why the other girls never stayed very long. But Veronika needed the job, or she would likely be shipped back to wherever she came from, something, Mrs. K thought, terrified her most of all.

Where Douglas Ashton had found the petite, young, pretty, dark-haired girl was something that Mrs. Kilpatrick did not want to know. He’d simply told Mrs. K one day that a girl was coming to fill the daily job that had gone vacant for several weeks.

“If she’s suitable, keep her. She’ll have no references but that’s not your concern, just put her to work,” he’d said.

The comings and goings of Douglas Ashton, titled Baron Blackbourne and sixth master of Sommersgate House, were none of Margaret Kilpatrick’s business and, even if she could know, Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t want to know. Further, she’d never question Lord Ashton, not in a million years. She’d be sacked, without references, even if she had been in his life since he could remember. He’d do it, she had no doubt, and he’d not entertain another thought in his handsome head about it.

Mrs. Kilpatrick had come to Sommersgate when Douglas Ashton was an infant. Even knowing him since he was a wee lad, as a man, she admired him greatly, she feared him and she worried about him, in that order.

Given his privileged birth, he could have chosen an entirely different path. However Douglas Ashton was driven to something else and this drive, to attain whatever it was he desired, was what Mrs. K admired. Although a cold man, Mrs. Kilpatrick felt (with some pride, even though it had naught to do with her) that Douglas Ashton was not a bad man (not like his father). One couldn’t say exactly that he was a good man but he certainly wasn’t cruel and, considering his upbringing, to avoid that end was a feat in itself.

His determination was what she feared, along with his rumoured ruthless tactics. No man should work that hard, that long, sacrificing whatever morals and ethics (and, if gossip could be believed, were all of them) to get what he wanted. Lord Ashton was not a man to be denied, if he wanted something, it was his. If he wanted Mrs. K to employ a pretty, young Russian girl with no references, no experience and nothing but a passport, then he’d have it. And he did. And Mrs. K was just one in a small army of people who did his bidding, or faced the consequences.

She worried about him because he seemed so unapproachable, so cold and so very alone. He had no one and needed no one and Mrs. K couldn’t believe anyone, truly, lived like that, at least not happily. Even though Douglas Ashton never gave any indication he cared one whit about Mrs. Kilpatrick, she was the kind of woman who cared about just about everyone. She had a special place in her heart for the two children she watched grow up at Sommersgate, both of them, even Lord Douglas Ashton. It wasn’t his fault he was the way he was, indeed, he could have turned out very, very different. That was why Mrs. K loved him, was devoted to him and his house, even though he would never know how she felt.

Margaret Kilpatrick’s attention returned to Veronika. “Help me with the coffee, then you can meet Miss Julia and then you can see to the unpacking.”

As ever, Veronika did as she was told and they brought a tray to Julia with an exquisite silver coffeepot, a delicate china serving set and a plate of biscuits all sitting on a crisp, lily-white linen serviette.

Julia stood, a smile on her lips, when she saw Veronika.

“Veronika,” she started, again putting out her hand to shake the girl’s. The girl hesitantly allowed this but gave a small cry of surprise when Julia pulled her in for a swift kiss on the cheek. Julia thoughtfully ignored Veronika’s startled cry when she continued. “I hear you’ve been taking care of my nieces and nephew. Thank you.”

Veronika nodded and stepped back, this warm reception was not something she’d encountered before from anyone, not even Mrs. Kilpatrick. Veronika Raykin and Julia Fairfax had met only once and the circumstances at the time were most dire.

Julia smiled at her and Veronika looked at a loss of what to do next. “I unpack your case,” she announced finally and then fled the room.

“She’s a little shy,” Mrs. Kilpatrick explained.

Julia nodded, her face thoughtful as she watched Veronika go.

“Her timing wasn’t great, just coming to this gothic monstrosity when…” Julia stopped and looked at Ruby then she started again. “Tell me, how are things?”

Mrs. Kilpatrick knew exactly what Julia was asking.

For the past five months, Julia was at home in Indiana preparing to move to England and care for her brother’s children under the strict terms of he and his wife’s will. These terms were rigid and, to everyone’s surprise, included that the children be brought up in England, live at Sommersgate and be reared under the guardianship of Lord Douglas Ashton and Ms. Julia Fairfax. Unless Julia was willing to give up custody, which she obviously was not, this meant she had to quit her high-paid job, sell her home, disburse her belongings, say good-bye to her friends and family and move to a foreign country to live at Sommersgate for at least the next thirteen years.

Julia had done all of this without murmur, leaving the country four and a half months ago after the funerals and after the will was read, shattered from grief and jetlag, and spent the ensuing time readying herself for this change in life.

In that time, Douglas Ashton and his mother Monique had not changed their habits one iota. They’d left the care of three bereaved children, who also had left their home to move to Sommersgate, in the hands of Mrs. K, her husband, Roddy, Veronika, and Sommersgate’s chauffer and handyman, Carter.

Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t mind. She openly adored Tamsin Ashton Fairfax, who shared not a single trait with her mother, father or brother, all proud and haughty. Fifteen years ago, Mrs. Kilpatrick had immediately fallen in love with the tall, athletic, fair, blue-eyed American boy from the Midwest, Gavin Fairfax, who was friendly and outgoing and who thought Tamsin resided on a pedestal (Mrs. K agreed). And in loving them both, Mrs. K loved their children and would do anything for them.

But she was not their family. Monique Ashton had not showed an interest in mothering her own two children and she showed even less of an interest in her grandchildren.

Douglas Ashton was worse. He worked long, inhuman hours, day and night, travelling from city to city, country to country, continent to continent. On those very rare occasions when he wasn’t working, he was playing and he played with the same intensity as he worked. An expert skier, an avid horseman and a collector of tall, young, frighteningly skinny blondes, brunettes and redheads, he was a man who was responsible to no one but himself. And even though, on a dark, wet road five months ago, that had changed, Douglas Ashton had not.

Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t know why Douglas worked so hard. He was born to money, property and a title. He was immensely good-looking and was one of Europe’s top bachelors.

Roderick Kilpatrick, Mrs. K’s husband, reckoned it was power. Mr. Kilpatrick worked as groundskeeper for both Douglas and his father and he felt in the position to have a pretty reliable opinion on the subject (indeed, Roddy felt he was in the position to have a pretty reliable opinion on a lot of subjects).

Mrs. K would always cringe and more often than not quickly cross herself when thinking of the older Ashton because he surely existed in purgatory, or worse, for what he put his son through. She tried not to think about it, the scenes, the shouting, the ugly, hideous words. As a mere servant, she didn’t exist to the Baron, therefore, it didn’t matter what she’d heard and she’d heard a great deal.

How young Douglas had borne it, she couldn’t imagine but it was a testament to his strength of will. It wrecked Tamsin, who idolised her older brother. Those two were inseparable when they were young, clinging to each other in a home where controlled violence or absent neglect were the only constants.

Mrs. K never saw evidence of beatings, and there were times when she wished for it, for no matter what lofty a position Maxwell Ashton held, Social Services would frown upon physical violence and Mrs. K would have reported it, make no mistake. But there was never any physical evidence of the type of lashings Douglas would endure.

When he wasn’t verbally abusing his son, Maxwell spent his time in the pursuit of power and pleasure which were the sum total of his interests for his short sixty years. Years that ended in a massive heart attack on a ski slope in Gstaad.

Monique seemed quite happy to be left to the pursuit of her own pleasures. And this was exactly what she did, leaving her children to fend for themselves most of the time.

Roddy Kilpatrick felt that perhaps Douglas wanted to prove he was worthy of some attention from the both of them, the kind a proud father and mother would show.

Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t believe that. Maxwell Ashton had been dead for years and there was no sign Douglas intended to slow down or settle down. Further, he seemed to regard his mother, as with everyone and everything else, with a cold disregard. She existed and he acknowledged that fact, and that was the end of it.

Rumour had it he’d more than quadrupled the family fortune and the way he did it was, no other way to say it, suspect. He had an office in Bristol and held a full staff at his offices in London. What he did to make his money, Mrs. K had no idea. He had a reputation as a dangerous man and it was a fact that he’d mysteriously disappeared for two years, without word or sighting. He had returned with no excuses for his absence looking no longer boyishly handsome but with a thin scar marring his hard mouth and lines etched into the sides of his eyes that were caused by wind and sun, and obviously not from playing polo.

His disappearance was never explained and, as for the rest, it was simply none of her business.

Mrs. Kilpatrick knew Samantha Thornton, Lord Ashton’s personal assistant, had been keeping in close contact with Julia and Julia and her mother called the children once or twice a week since the accident. Julia was no fool; she knew that the children had been left in the servants’ care.

“We’re all well, we’re just happy you’re here,” Mrs. Kilpatrick answered, loyal to the last to her employers who kept her and her husband fed and housed in the Groundskeeper’s Cottage up the lane.

Julia looked like she didn’t share Mrs. K’s sentiments but she was discreet enough not to say so.

She looked down at Ruby. “Well, we’ll get things sorted soon enough,” she said with considerable feeling, leaving Mrs. K to wonder what she meant.

“Er… well, as you know, Lady Ashton has been called away…” On a cruise, Mrs. K thought but did not say. She was as shocked as she was certain Julia and Patricia had been when they heard that Lady Monique would accept an invitation to cruise the Mediterranean rather than welcome a member of the family who was to move into their home. “And Lord Ashton wanted me to tell you he had unexpected business in London and won’t be home until late tonight, but I have a nice welcome dinner planned for you and the children…”

“You’re a gem, Mrs. K.” Julia smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes and then turned to her niece.

Mrs. K inclined her head in an acknowledgement. “Once Veronika has unpacked your bags, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

On that, she left, hearing Ruby chatter away to Julia while she walked away.

The children adored their Auntie Jewel, who came to visit often and would meet Tamsin, Gavin and the children for holidays. Mrs. K had to believe that Julia would find a way to heal the raw wounds of a family torn asunder.

As for Sommersgate and its master, Mrs. K could only hope.

Fervently hope.

Mr. Kilpatrick thought his wife was slightly mad but Mrs. K had been at Sommersgate long enough to love it. The house, too, had wounds to heal and those were a great deal older and more imbedded than the three Fairfax children’s.

What Sommersgate needed was love, laughter and happiness and, for over one hundred years, the house had lacked all three. It was a tall order, to think this headstrong American woman could soothe the overwhelming grief of three young children and cure a century of sorrow that clung to a pile of stone, glass and iron.

Her biggest challenge was to melt the heart of the dangerously cold Douglas Ashton who was the key to it all.

Mrs. Margaret Kilpatrick had been neither seen nor heard in that house for thirty-seven years. That did not mean she neither saw nor heard. And she knew that there was something between Ms. Julia Elizabeth Fairfax and Lord Douglas Ashton, Baron Blackbourne. Something even they didn’t know was there and now there were no husbands or siblings to get in the way.

Mrs. Kilpatrick had to admit she was tense, but, still, she had hope.