25. Gone

Audrey slid the frame back into the hive, her movements slow and careful. Calmed by the smoke, the bees buzzed only languidly, their drone a reminder of summer warmth in the chill of the autumnal air.

'This is your new home,' she told them.

Not far from the lodge. They would soon find their way. You had to tell bees about all the things that had happened, all of the changes. And so she told them about the man who had come from a place so far away; how he had turned himself into someone new; how he had built an empire and that had brought him here. And now he was gone.

The honeycomb glistened, oozing its sticky sweetness.

'But it isn't over,' she said, reassuring. 'He'll be back.'

If it all worked out. It would have to. Mrs Poo had replied to the invitation with enthusiasm and Audrey sensed that she was prepared to deliver Richard bound and gagged if need be.

But her fondest imaginings weren't the same as being sure.

Away from the hives, Audrey removed the hat and veil and gauntlets. She was still reacquainting herself with the house. Parts of it were almost unrecognisable: where there had been decay, there was clean plaster, fresh paint, restored panelling and woodwork. She had been aware of the work carried out at the manor but had never truly realised the extent of what he had done.

The servants' hall and quarters, Mrs Beecham had told her, hade been the first things attended to.

But he had come from the sort of grinding deprivation that she couldn't even imagine; it was natural that he would want to help the people under his care before he did anything else.

Four hundred years of fforbes-Hamiltons, their traditions and rituals and patronage, were built into the walls of Grantleigh. And now, inscribed over everything, was Richard DeVere. She could feel him as she walked around the manor, half expected to find him leaning against the fireplace in the library, looking at her with that gleam in his eyes as though he had some secret that he found wildly entertaining.

Or in his study, with the safe that now stood with its door swinging open. No fire-like glow from it now. It was empty. But it wasn't the money that had given that room its warmth.

There was one room that she hadn't entered since her return, but she would have to face it eventually. Her feet took her there now and Audrey took a breath before pushing the door open, remembering that day when she had first seen its golden glow, the glorious light streaming through the high windows. The discovery of a shared passion and the moment when something in her had changed.

Now it was just a beautifully decorated room. The lowering sun pierced the space, glinting off the highlights of gilt and warming the pale gold of the walls. It felt terribly cold. She shivered, turned to leave but a tiny flash of colour caught her eye. Audrey took a few paces into the room. The cabinets were not entirely bare: there was still something in one of them.

A frown deepened as she crossed the room, her hand rested on the handle before she pulled open the glass-fronted door. It was two objects, not one. Sugar pink and pistachio green, a pair of Fabergé demitasse cups. A plain white card was propped against them, a few lines written in a clear hand.

To Audrey,

With gratitude for everything.

-Richard.

Brabinger heard the muffled sound and followed it. A strange noise that he couldn't quite place. The door to the old Tea room was standing open and he glanced inside, readying to close it again and then stopped. For a moment he stood very still and then withdrew, quietly pulling the door to.

But it was something he couldn't stop seeing or hearing: Audrey fforbes-Hamilton, hunched over on herself, and she was weeping.