The Tree of Love

CHAPTER ONE - 1815-1

CHAPTER ONE

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1815Shenda brought her stallion into the stables and, as there was no groom to be seen, she rubbed him down.

Then she patted him affectionately and walked out onto the cobbled yard.

There was still no sign of the groom anywhere and she thought he was doubtless in the kitchen talking to the cook about the funeral.

She walked slowly, not into the house, but through the rhododendrons that led into the garden.

The grass was green and so many flowers were just coming into bloom.

The birds were singing cheerfully overhead, but all Shenda could think about was that this was the end.

The end of her life as she knew it.

The end of her home, the only one she had ever known.

It seemed so incredible that everything could have changed so much since the beginning of the war.

Her mother had died not long before the end of the Peninsular Campaign and she realised that she would have to look after her father, who had never been very strong – he had always relied on his wife for everything.

Nobody could have dreamt that Lady Linbury, who had always been the spirit and inspiration of the whole County, could have died so suddenly.

It was after an exceptionally bitter winter and she had always been weak where her lungs were concerned.

When she caught what was in fact a very bad attack of pneumonia, she refused to take to her bed.

She insisted on continuing to look after her husband and her daughter as she had always done.

When she could no longer move, see or speak, she had reluctantly agreed to rest, but it was too late.

The doctor could do nothing and the nurse they had ordered for her arrived after she had actually passed away.

To Shenda it had seemed quite impossible that her darling Mama was no longer there with her.

Everyone had always turned to her for help and advice, as she had always been an incredible tower of strength not only to Linbury House but also to the estate that had been in the family for generations. Now she was gone and her loss would cause a great hole in the fabric of the place.

Lady Linbury’s system was old-fashioned in very many ways, but what did that matter.

As Shenda’s brother, Johnnie, had said to her over and over again,

“I will alter things and bring the estate up-to-date when I take over. But for the moment I am quite content to let Mama do everything she wants.”

It was not as if he was able to do much anyway, as being in the Army he could take very little leave.

He had travelled abroad with the first contingent of Wellington’s Army on the outbreak of war.

After he had landed in Portugal, it was impossible at first to hear from him at all and then occasionally letters came through – yet invariably by the time they arrived they were out of date.

Therefore they had no idea where Johnnie was or, as his father sometimes said bitterly, “if he is alive at all.”

Shenda had written to him when their mother died, but it was two months before she received an answer.

When Johnnie learnt of his mother’s death, he was, as Shenda expected, terribly upset by the news.

“What will we do without her?” he wrote. “She was always the life and soul of the family and I cannot imagine how you and Papa will cope now she is no longer there.”

It was exactly what Shenda was thinking herself.

She could only write back to him and tell Johnnie they were doing their best so that when he did return he would not be disappointed.

Then the Battle of Waterloo came and the whole of the country was in a wild state of excitement at the victory.

But Johnnie was one of those thousands of English soldiers who would never return.

It was hearing that he had lost his only son, Shenda recognised, which had really killed her father.

Losing her mother had been the blow that changed him into a withdrawn invalid who seldom spoke and only ate when his daughter more or less forced him to do so.

Shenda had always known her father was frail, but then one morning when the servant who usually called him came hurrying to her room, she knew, as she heard his footsteps in the corridor, what he had come to tell her.

Now without her father, her mother or Johnnie to guide her, she had to make what she realised was the most important decision of her life.

Actually there was no alternative.

She had to do what her father had told her to do.

She had read the letter he had left for her again and again.

At first she felt that what he had written to her must be part of her imagination and not of reality.

Living as she was in the depths of the Hertfordshire countryside she had always felt out of touch with the world outside her home and its immediate neighbourhood.

There had been no question of her going to London a year ago when she would ordinarily have made her debut in the Season.

One of her very distant relatives had written to say that she fully understood what a sad time it was for her and wondered if she would like to come and stay in London.

She was in mourning and therefore could not attend any of the Society balls, but there were many small parties at which she could be a guest.

Some of her younger cousins whom she had never met would doubtless invite her to visit them.

In the past Shenda had refused because she had her father to look after and anyway she had thought it was not the sort of world she would enjoy.

Now her father had been buried two days ago and there had been no one to mourn at his funeral except their immediate neighbours.

They were mostly older and living quietly as their sons were serving in the Army of Occupation in France and their daughters were married or so young they were still at school.

Though her father was a Peer, he was not a wealthy man and during the years of the war he and her mother had not been that interested in Social activities in the County.

Shenda gathered that things had been very different when her father and mother had been young. When they first married there had been more kindred spirits living in that part of Hertfordshire than there were now.

She was amused when she was told that the Duke of Wellington, who was then Sir Arthur Wellesley, used to stay at Hatfield House with their neighbours the Marquis and Marchioness of Salisbury.

Shenda had been told that Lady Salisbury had given him a sky-blue frock coat, the colours of the Hertfordshire Hunt, and he had obviously appreciated the gift as he often wore it when he rode to hounds.

The Salisburys had always seemed somewhat aloof from their neighbours in the County, but still they had sent her a letter of condolence when her mother died.

She expected that there would be another one when they learnt of the death of her father.

What her father and mother had told her about the Duke of Wellington was all she knew about him.

Now suddenly, so that it took her breath away even to think about it, he had become very important in her life.

After her father’s death she had gone to his writing desk to see what bills were outstanding. To her surprise when she opened the centre drawer, she had seen her name printed in capital letters on a large envelope.

She had stared at it for a moment, thinking she was only seeing it in her imagination.

She recognised her father’s handwriting and opened the brown envelope gingerly.

Inside there was one envelope for her – and another one addressed, although it seemed incredible, to His Grace the Duke of Wellington.

She opened hers and her father had written,

“My dearest and most precious daughter,

When you read this, which I think will be very soon, I will have joined your mother and your beloved brother in another world.

As I have often felt them near me, I am quite certain they will be there to welcome me and I will not be alone.

But there is no one left to look after you!

This has troubled me night after night when I have lain awake wondering how you will ever be able to care for yourself.

I have finally decided that you must go to France when you have read this letter and give the letter I have enclosed with yours to the Duke of Wellington.

I have pointed out to him that I have given him my one and only son and the well-being of my estate as all our men who used to work for us have joined his Army.

Now the only one I have left is you, Shenda.

I therefore leave you in his care and feel sure that he will not refuse my plea.

If Johnnie had survived to carry on my title and the estate, you would, I know, have been happy. When the war was over, you could have lived the life your mother and I had always planned for you.

As everything has changed and all that is left of this hideous and ghastly war is the peace the Duke can bring to Europe, you surely have a right to share in his victory.

God Bless you, my dearest beloved daughter, and please obey me as I believe that I am doing what both your mother and Johnnie would think is right and just.”

Her father had signed it at the bottom of the page.

Shenda read it again, feeling it could not be true.

Also in her envelope was the name and address of a Courier in London who would take her to France and there was quite a large sum of money for her expenses.

*

Now she stood in the middle of the garden, looking at the flowers and shrubs that were so familiar, and the trees she and Johnnie had climbed when they were children.

She looked beyond to the lake where they had both learnt to swim and fish.

But still she could not believe that she must leave the home that had always been hers –

And all the love that had been poured into it by her beloved family.

As Johnnie was now dead, so was the title and the house and estate would have to be sold because there was not enough income for her to keep them going. Nor would it be possible for her to live there alone.

As her father had said in his letter, the men working on the estate – and many had been with them for years – had all gone to the war.

Many had been killed or wounded and there was no prospect therefore of their ploughing the acres again and making the crops pay as they had done before the war.

Just as they now looked sad and neglected, so did the house itself.

It was almost impossible, even if she could afford it, to have the necessary repairs undertaken.

The winter rain had seeped in through the ceilings, and the tiles had fallen off the roof, and there had been no workmen to replace them or to make sure that there was no further damage in the next tempest.

The last few winters had been rough and very cold and when they had killed her mother, they had destroyed part of the house, which was now uninhabitable.

Now, whenever she looked at the house, she closed her eyes, as she could not bear to see how many windows needed repairing.

The house would one day fall down or it would be left to the next owner to restore it to its former glory.

At the same time everything in her body rebelled against going abroad.

How could she ever leave the England she loved so much where everything was so familiar?

Yet she knew that her father would think of it as an adventure for her.

When he was a young man, he had spent much time exploring the world and had visited many strange countries that seldom appeared in the geography books.

Shenda could remember sitting on a stool at his feet while he told her stories – how he had climbed a mountain in India and how he had travelled to Nepal where few other Europeans had ever been and how he had then explored the great unknown African deserts.

He made it all seem so fascinating, vivid and real to the small child listening to him and it was even better when she could follow his finger on the map.