9

Black start. Black Heart.

Derbyshire, England 1871

‘Come lad. Away from the wall, you appear too short in that light. Walk about, and look happy. Anyone would think you were starving hungry with that long face. Smile lad!’

The small Edward raised a nervous head. Dark blonde curls gently cupped his pixie face, his pale white skin reflecting the glow of the candles that hung over head. About him buzzed the sounds of society: the murmuring of gossip, the higher cadence of excitement, the hush of boasting and the freedom of laughter. Voices of the elite, pinning him back against the polished wooden walls of his father’s entertainment hall. In a room filled with people, Edward was alone. He watched his father, Walter Barrington, a man born into money, mingle comfortably with his guests, savouring the banter of the rich chorus.

Looking up Edward observed the solid chandelier that hung lifelessly from the high domed ceiling.

‘Come on now, I don’t have all day.’

Edward looked at his father, so comfortable with these strangers of business and enterprise, completely awkward with his own flesh and blood. Timidly, Edward ventured forward, stick thin legs shaking his knocked knees ever closer together.

Walking through the medley of silk dresses and pressed dress pants, Edward breathed the scent of femininity: perfume and powders. Standing still in the centre of the room his tiny chest filled with the promise of comfort and the sharp pain of absence. A whisper of longing.

The only son of a factory owner, Walter had made his wealth on the back of the newly mechanised textile industry in Derbyshire, taking his father’s business legacy and making it his own grand success. On the back of changing times he consolidated his position, using his wealth to buy shares in the right industry and that wealth to buy his way into society, eventually even moving his family into the well regarded country estate known as Hathrone. But the jewel in his crown had been his marriage to Lady Elizabeth Usinet. At the time of her presentation, Lady Elizabeth had been the most eligible lady in Derbyshire society. And despite his less than traditional history, Walter won her heart. Cynics said he married her only for her good name; an enhancement to his list of assets, no more than a conquest in his drive to gain position and respect in the upper reaches of society.

But the servants of Hathrone, who saw him after Lady Elizabeth’s untimely death, knew beyond doubt that theirs had been a love match. She passed on Edward’s birth bed, leaving her only child alone and motherless and her new husband inconsolable.

After Edward’s unfortunate arrival into the world his father found numerous reasons to be absent. The tiny babe left in the care of nannies and parlour maids. Whether it was the emptiness of the house without his wife, the two storeys, the cold stonework, the high looming ceilings, or the reminder of loss that the child embodied, only Walter knew, but something drove him away from the success and the home he had so avidly sought. Rooms were mothballed, windows closed, fireplaces left unlit, and Walter travelled. The emptiness of being a small boy, standing alone, a mammoth house surrounding him as he eagerly awaited the return of his absent father, only to be brushed aside with bare acknowledgment, would never fully be erased from Edward’s heart.

Upon reaching the tender age of four, Edward was sent to boarding school 500 miles away in London, separated from Nannie Mabel, the only source of warmth and love his young heart had known. Unlike the other boys, he spent most of his holidays at the school, returning to Hathrone only in the summers and for important events. Arriving home that first summer, Edward had raced down the drive, bursting through the door calling for Mabel, only to find the house dark and cold. Walter, seeing no further need for a nanny, had let Mabel go. Edward would now be responsible for himself at boarding school and at home.

This cold and detached upbringing shaped the man Edward would become; the shy child grew into a solitary teenager. Outcast at school by his sensitive nature, invisible at home, his world became the four walls of his bedroom chambers and the two covers of a book, within which he could not be touched, overlooked, unwanted. There was no one else to judge. Rain or shine he kept to himself, reading and studying and writing an extensive journal. He longed to speak with his father, to hear of his mother, but even on the rare occasions that Walter was in residence at Hathrone, the thick oak door to Walter’s study formed an impenetrable barrier, keeping his sorrowful son away. Edward came to see these as the black years. Pain and darkness a never ending well sucking him down into its core.

It wasn’t until Edward started at university that he learned to put his father’s wealth to good use, using his summers to travel Europe, rather than visit the cold and empty manor house in the North. Walter was happy to oblige.

****

‘I didn’t visit,’ Edward said, staring into the firelight. ‘My father asked me to come home for Christmas before I went to Athens. I wrote to him from the boat, promising to see him when I returned in three months. He was ill, dying, but I didn’t know. I’d just returned from the Parthenon when the news arrived.’

‘You could not have known your father was ill. He didn’t give you the information to make a proper choice.’

‘Perhaps, but I think a part of me did know, or at least suspected. He had always placed such importance on my role as keeper of the estate. But Hathrone, it wasn’t home to me, not really. It was a role I didn’t want. The pressure and challenge of the position. When he called me home, that’s what I heard. And so I ran.’ I felt the darkness creeping back, Edward thought. Adjusting his cuffs to make use of his hands, he did not voice the thought.

‘That’s a lot of pressure to put onto anyone, especially a young man,’ George said, a small frown between his eyes. ‘No wonder you enjoyed the freedom of travelling.’

’I did need to learn from him though, the business and estate has not fared well in my hands. But, in the end it has all worked out for the best. I came home, and met my wife. I wouldn’t change that for the world.’

‘You are very resilient.’

Edward felt a warm blush of embarrassment colour his cheeks, but again, George showed no indication that he realised how open and personal he had been. Calm settled over Edward, a lightness spreading along his limbs. It had felt good to talk.

‘Well,’ George said, ’seems we have finished the wine, and it is getting late. I might turn in.’

‘Yes,’ Edward agreed, rising and shaking George’s hand. ‘Thank you again for the wine and company.’

‘And you. I am here most evenings. Please come and join me, anytime.’

Edward paused, ‘Yes, thank you. Yes, I will.’ And returned to his cabin and his wife.

Next Chapter: Chapter ten: Landfall