Stardust
Copyright
Stardust
Copyright © 1982 by Anne Hampson
Cover art, special contents, and electronic edition © 2014 by RosettaBooks LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover jacket design by Alexia Garaventa
ISBN ePub edition: 9780795339271
Chapter One
It was with an inescapable premonition of doom uppermost in her mind that Jody entered the sanctum of what had, until recently, been her adoptive father’s study. Rochelle, ‘golden-girl’ winner of two beauty competitions and idol of all the male members of the various clubs to which she belonged, was sitting at the ancient leather-topped desk, perusing an open ledger, so totally absorbed in it that she seemed not to be aware of her sister’s presence. Or perhaps, thought Jody, she was being deliberately ungracious, which would be the rule rather than the exception.
‘Mary said you wanted to see me.’ Jody moved slowly forward after closing the door, but she did not venture to sit down. It was inexplicable, this feeling of being a stranger in the house where she had lived for almost twelve years. ‘Is it something important?’ A superfluous question born of nervousness which itself resulted from the nameless fear and uncertainty which had burst upon her a few moments ago when Mary had come to her in the garden and said, unsteadily and with a frown on her brow, ‘Rochelle wants you in the study. She was even more uncivil than usual, and I think you’d better not keep her waiting.’
Mary had paused as if on the point of adding something more, but with a shake of her head she had walked away, briskly proceeding to the side door leading to the kitchen.
‘Mary seemed a little agitated—’
‘I’ve given her a month’s notice,’ broke in Rochelle impatiently.
‘You…!’ Jody shook her head in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand, Rochelle—’
‘You will in a moment.’ Rochelle’s lovely blue eyes flickered over Jody’s immature figure in a cursory examination, while Jody’s own eyes remained on her sister’s face; she was wondering why no one had ever managed to catch the icy glitter which sometimes marred the real beauty of those eyes, or questioned the sincerity of Rochelle’s disarming smile. Certainly Philip and Monica Hendrick had had no suspicions, hence their leaving the valuable Victorian house and its contents to the elder of their adopted children. As memory touched the edge of Jody’s mind, she found herself reliving numerous incidents in which she had known a sense of exclusion, of being shut out, but always she had accepted this treatment as natural, her being so much younger than Rochelle, who always seemed able to hold her own in any conversation or discussion with her parents. For Jody there had never been this kind of comradeship, nor was there even a hazy recollection of a show of real love, and during the past few months she had often sensed a regret about her parents as to the wisdom of their adopting a second child when they already had one who, at eleven years old, had been with them almost from birth. Although only six at the time, Jody had recognised the fierce jealousy which at first characterised Rochelle’s attitude towards her. It was as if, instead of welcoming a sister, Rochelle had regarded Jody as a potential competitor for the affections of their adoptive parents. Portraying a cleverness beyond her years, Rochelle had managed successfully to hide her animosity from them, being an affectionate and protective elder sister when in their company. Yet despite these disturbing attitudes of all three, Jody had never felt any sense of insecurity… not until now.
‘I’ve decided to sell this house.’ Rochelle’s low, husky voice was hard—not at all the voice she used when speaking to one of her numerous admirers. ‘I’m buying a small flat—a one-bedroom flat,’ she added significantly, a thin smile curving her mouth as she noticed the colour leave her sister’s face. ‘It’ll be about eight weeks before everything’s settled, so you have plenty of time to get yourself fixed up. I’ve had an assurance from the estate agent that the house will sell quickly; it’s the kind that’s easily converted into flats, and you know how great a demand there is for them in this area.’
Stunned in spite of her previous misgivings, Jody could only stare wordlessly for a long moment before saying in a choked little voice, ‘I can’t understand why our parents left almost everything to you and nothing to me. It wasn’t fair—’
‘They didn’t leave you anything simply because you’ve never helped them in their business. It was I who assisted Father, taking over the bookkeeping, looking after the office side of it generally.’
This was true, of course. In addition to her exquisite beauty, Rochelle had been gifted with a brilliant mind which her father used in his decorating firm from the time Rochelle left school at sixteen years of age. She practically ran the business, and it was because Philip could trust her to look after things that he and his wife decided to take a holiday in the Far East. A small airplane carrying them from Singapore to a tiny island where they intended staying for a few days crashed with the loss of all passengers and crew. That was six weeks ago, and ever since the will was read, Jody had observed a change in her sister, the growing arrogance, the attitude of complete superiority she had assumed.
And now the bombshell had come. Jody was being turned out of the house. Again incidents and sensations spread out from the mists of memory—the feeling of not belonging, the lack of love, the awareness of being a flaw in the pattern of life in the lovely home which now belonged entirely to her adoptive sister, the girl who was speaking again, repeating what she had said in order to emphasize it. Jody looked at her through a mist of tears.
‘I know you ran the office all on your own, Rochelle, but you’re five years older than I. They let you leave school at sixteen and enter the business.’
‘Could you have left at sixteen and entered the business?’ was Rochelle’s disparaging response to that. ‘You haven’t the brain.’
‘I hoped to get my A-levels!’ flashed Jody indignantly.
‘Hoped?’ with a lift of Rochelle’s delicate eyebrows. ‘You’d not have succeeded, and I did tell Father it was a waste of time and money, keeping you at school. He ought to have sent you into a shop or something. The experience would have served you in good stead at this present time.’
‘They never did like me as much as you!’ The protest was vehement but yet tearful, for although Jody bitterly resented what her parents had done, she had by no means recovered from the shock of their sudden death. For her a void had been left which she felt would be a long while in closing, whereas Rochelle had never even shed a tear or spoken one word of regret.
‘That assertion,’ returned Rochelle hardly, ‘is pure imagination on your part.’
‘Then why didn’t they treat us both alike when they made their will?’
‘As they’re not here to explain, your question’s absurd.’ A frown darkened Rochelle’s wide brow as she waited for Jody to comment. But Jody was dumb, her mind trying to grapple with this situation in which, at only eighteen, she was being turned out of her home—with practically nothing, for the small legacy left to her could not possibly provide her with even the smallest apartment. She could rent one, she supposed, and the money would buy the furniture, but what then? Jody was still at school, about to take her A-levels, after which she would have gone on to secretarial school. These were the plans her parents had made for her and which she had accepted, ever filled with gratitude, first for their adopting her, and second for everything they had done for her since.
‘I don’t expect they thought they’d die for a long time yet,’ murmured Jody at last, speaking her thoughts aloud.
‘No,’ agreed Rochelle unemotionally, ‘I don’t expect they did.’
Again Jody looked directly at her, and suddenly she was enveloped in a great sadness, a sadness transcending the fear, the knowledge of being alone in the world and the dazed floundering of a mind desperately groping for some kind of picture of the future, some form of light to which she could reach out.
Yes, it was sadness which held her as, wordlessly, she left the study and made her way through the house, nodding to Mary in sympathy but too weighed down to express the concern she ought to have voiced. She was dwelling on all she had missed—the love of parents and a sister. If only she had been given that love, everything would have been so different. She and Rochelle would have shared the house and the money which Rochelle was receiving from the sale of the business, and they would have continued to live together, comforting one another, becoming even closer because of their loss.
Jody’s thoughts changed, and she was thinking of Mary, who had been with the Hendricks for over twenty years, and who, like Jody, had no one else in the world. But she was well past middle age and she had been thrifty. She had once told Jody of her ambition to have a cottage in the country where she could grow flowers and vegetables and keep fowl.
Just like Old Bill, mused Jody as she covered the wide, immaculate lawn slowly, making for the little prefabricated house in the trees where the garden bordered the one next door.
The gentle shadows of a May evening were spreading over the wooded part of the gardens as the tiny prefab came into her line of vision, its drab grey walls damp-stained, its window frames slightly askew. Old Bill was sitting on a rough bench outside the open door, and Jody stopped a moment to stare and sigh, herself unseen, as with one hand he held a folded newspaper at some distance from his face, while the other arm dangled at his side. She glanced down at his feet, where his bare toes filled the holes in a pair of Philip’s cast-off canvas shoes, and then she lifted her eyes again to take in the sparse hair, half grey, half pale sandy, lying in separated strands, wash-hungry and long. Seventy-six in two months’ time… He ought to be retiring anyway, thought Jody, but what would he do and where would he live? Yes, it needed no special sense of perception to realise that he, too, had been told to go. Affection surged in a great wave within her, and Jody quickened her steps. He glanced over the paper and she saw with a little access of tenderness that his spectacles—one of which was cracked within its metal frame—were, as usual, balanced lopsidedly on the very end of his nose. A smile broke through the forlorn set of his face as she drew closer.
‘Hello, Bill.’ Jody eased herself down on a boulder which, aeons of time ago, had been dropped by the ice and which no one had ever decided to move. ‘How many eggs today?’
‘Eight.’ A pause, and then, ‘You’re not too bright, little Jody. Want to talk to Old Bill about it?’
Jody’s big brown eyes were intent. ‘You’re not too bright either. Something’s wrong?’
He paused, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘Rochelle’s selling up. I have to go.’
Tears spiked Jody’s eyes, and her young mouth quivered uncontrollably. ‘I knew it, of course…’ She swallowed the painful lump that had risen in her throat. ‘It was inevitable, seeing that Rochelle’s leaving. I don’t suppose the new owners will want you any more than they’ll want Mary.’
‘And you, little one?’ The tone held concern, deep concern, for Old Bill and Jody had always been close, confiding in one another, giving and being given sympathy that often amounted to deep affection. Both were starved of love, and for Jody the tiny home of two rooms and kitchen had been the haven to which she would run when things became too hurtful to bear. It was to Old Bill that she had come on hearing of the death of her adoptive parents, and on his shoulder she had wept.
‘They were good to me in their own way,’ she had said, clinging to Bill’s coat despite the fact of its not being any too clean. ‘Oh, why did it have to happen!’
Bill’s soothing voice and touch, his gentleness—even the clumsy way he had kissed her—were balm to Jody’s heart so that she scarcely noticed the total lack of affection and understanding on her sister’s part.
‘I have to go too,’ answered Jody, returning her thoughts to his question. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘I’ve never said much about Rochelle, but right from the first we didn’t get along. She never could forget that I’d been a sort of vagabond, wandering about without a roof over my head. It was Mr. Hendrick who took me in one day after I’d knocked on his door and asked if he wanted his lawn cut. He’d had a man who let him down several times, so he said yes, I could cut the lawn, and he gave me a few shillings, as our money was at that time.’ Old Bill paused reflectively. ‘I said I’d come the following week, which I did, and then he offered me a permanent job doing the garden, and after I’d got settled in the little prefab he’d bought, I began to keep the hens and ducks.’
He paused again, and Jody glanced around, her troubles forgotten momentarily as her eyes wandered from the neat rows of peas and beans to the healthy foliage of the potatoes. And away in a secluded corner was the hencote, with the birds scratching about for worms and grit. The ducks were on a small pond at the far end of the long garden; Jody could hear them quacking and vaguely wondered how many eggs were lost by being laid in the water. Or perhaps ducks did not lay in the water. Jody did not know.
‘I shall have to leave school,’ she murmured, her thoughts brought starkly back to the present by the glimpse she had of Mary pegging out the tea towels on the little line at the back of the house. ‘I was so optimistic about getting my A-levels.’ Jody’s eyes were heavily shadowed; looking at her, Old Bill knew of the fear that was threading its way through her mind.
‘I wish I had some money.’ It was the first time Jody had ever heard Old Bill say anything like that. She knew how much he received for his work. It was a mere pittance, but he was content because he had his garden and the fowl. He provided the household with vegetables and poultry but had more than enough left over for himself, and he lived well. ‘I’d give it to you so that you could buy a little home…’ His voice trailed off as a frown creased his forehead. A gnarled hand stroked the jutting chin, and he was shaking his head. ‘We’re in a mess, little Jody,’ he ended, and she closed her eyes tightly to hold back a deluge of tears.
‘I can’t think straight,’ she said.
‘It’s not so bad for me.’ Old Bill’s face grew thoughtful. ‘I can go back to the road—’
‘Oh, no!’ cried Jody, distressed and tearful. ‘Not at your age, Bill!’
‘What else is there for me?’ he demanded, and his tone was calm and philosophical. ‘I’ve had it good for a number of years, so where’s my grumble?’
The tears escaped and ran down Jody’s cheeks. ‘You can be helped by the state; you know that.’
‘Charity?’ Bill shook his head. ‘Not for me. I shall take to the road again and keep my pride.’ He looked at her from above the steel rims of his spectacles, inviting further comment, but Jody said nothing. ‘That Rochelle,’, he added after a while, ‘could not even tell me politely to leave. She treated me as if I were nothing more than a worm wriggling about her feet.’ Again Jody said nothing, because she knew he was right. Rochelle had always looked down on Old Bill, calling him a tramp and ne’er-do-well. But Jody knew of his misfortunes, knew how, having been born to dire poverty, he was orphaned at the age of twelve and taken by an uncle who made him work in his coal-delivery business, forcing him to heave the heavy bags even though he was a mere child still. After two years he ran away and for a while worked on ships, but then he was ill, and moved about the countryside, almost dying on his feet. A farmer found him in his barn early one morning, and from then on Bill was taken care of by the farmer’s wife, who provided him with a bed in the attic. He was happy working on the farm, but eventually the farmer grew too old to keep it on and the people to whom he sold it did not want anyone living in, and although Bill said he was willing to sleep in the barn, they would not allow it. And so Bill took to the road, enjoying the freedom even while appreciating the fact that life could not continue like that. So when he was offered the job by Philip Hendrick, he accepted eagerly, happy to have a roof of his own at last. It was sparsely furnished, with only the bare necessities, but every Christmas he had received presents from Monica and Philip, and from Jody, useful things, often for his kitchen; Jody’s present last Christmas was a bright blue tablecloth, and her mother had given him some cutlery and a cruet.
And now Old Bill had to leave it all… and take to the road again. At seventy-six…
‘If only our parents had split everything between us, Bill, then I would have insisted that you stay.’
‘I was staggered when I knew of that will. But always you were eclipsed by Rochelle, so I ought to have expected something of the sort happening over the property.’ Old Bill’s voice was gruff, and edged with concern for Jody’s plight.
‘I expect they assumed I’d be married before they died.’
‘In the ordinary way, you would have been, but they ought to have treated you both alike in any case.’
‘What are we to do, Bill?’ Several ideas now careered into Jody’s mind: she could go into what was at one time called ‘service’—and live in and be someone’s servant. Or she could perhaps do some kind of hotel work where accommodation would count as part of her salary. To live among strangers, though, and to be at their beck and call, for that was how it was when you lived in… there was no getting away from your work.
She cast a glance at Old Bill, thinking he had dozed off, but he was staring into space, his eyes pale lavender above his lopsided spectacles. Rising slowly, she left him to his silence and made her way back to the house.
***
Rochelle was going away for a week’s holiday. It was a snap decision made when she was asked by a friend to take the place of the girl who had let her down.
‘I’ll expect you to have made some arrangements when I get back,’ Rochelle warned Jody. ‘The house is sold and the people are only waiting for the mortgage to come through.’
‘But, Rochelle, where can I go?’
‘It’s not my affair.’
‘You’re my sister—’
‘Don’t be absurd. We’re totally unrelated.’
‘So you don’t care what happens to… to me?’ Jody knew she was lacking in courage, knew that someone stronger and more self-reliant would tackle this problem as it should be tackled—bravely and with the determination to win through. But try as she would, Jody could not rid herself of this feeling of helplessness, and as she had said to Old Bill, she could not think straight. She continued to flounder, even though it was possible that the new owners would be taking possession in three or four weeks’ time.
‘Why should I care what happens to you?’ Rochelle was frowning, and for a hopeful moment Jody had the impression that she was troubled about her. However, Rochelle’s next words soon disillusioned her on that particular score. ‘I’ve my own life to make, Jody. I’m out of a job now, remember, and it might take me some time to find one. Meanwhile, I have to settle myself in the flat I’ve bought—it needs decorating and furnishing. So you can see that I have enough on my mind without taking on the responsibility of a child who is not even related to me.’
Jody remained dumb, since there was nothing to say—nothing that would do her any good, that is, so why waste words?
Yet on the day when Rochelle was in her room packing the two smart suitcases she had bought herself, Jody knocked gently and entered, then spoke swiftly as if by so doing she could touch a soft spot somewhere in her adoptive sister’s makeup.
‘Rochelle, if you would let me live with you in your flat, just until I’ve taken my exams and left school, I might be able to find a job and—’
‘I’ve already told you, the flat has only one bedroom.’ Curt the tone, and accompanied by a sweeping glance that was both contemptuous and impatient. ‘You’re eighteen,’ went on Rochelle as she folded a gay cotton dress and put it carefully on top of several others. ‘Many girls of your age fend for themselves.’
‘Yes, I know,’ agreed Jody, but went on to say that she had not yet left school, much less been trained for any job. ‘Who’s going to employ me when I’ve no experience at anything?’
‘That,’ answered Rochelle with some asperity, ‘is your affair entirely. And now, will you go, and let me get on with this packing? I have to be at the airport in less than three hours’ time.’
Half an hour later Old Bill was asking where Rochelle was going for her holiday.
‘Portugal. I’d love to go abroad.’ A wistful expression erased the stress from Jody’s face, and the old man caught his breath. Long ago he had predicted that Jody would be even more beautiful than her sister, and now that beauty was fast developing. Those eyes, so soft and brown, were enhanced by thick curling lashes which seemed to the old man to have grown overnight; the silken hair had grown too; it was slightly waved and flicked up in half-curls resting on her delicately sloping shoulders. Her features had a classical quality about them that reminded him of a Greek kore, and her skin was like flawless alabaster, translucent over the blue veins at her temples. She parted her rosy lips and smiled, and he nodded over and over again. Yes, her beauty was about to open, like that of a rose unfurling its tender petals to the sun. And her beauty would last, because it was deep. Rochelle’s would fade, destroyed by the ice beneath its delicate surface.
‘Bill, what are you thinking about?’ Jody moved over to a chair and sat down.
‘You,’ answered Old Bill briefly.
‘Yes, of course. You’re wondering what is to become of me.’
He said nothing to that, and for a long while they sat in silence, each trying to envisage the future.
‘Something might turn up,’ said Old Bill at last, and Jody gave a sigh, for it was an impossibility for anything to turn up.
But little did she know with what stunning effect those words were to come back to her, and before very long.
Rochelle had been away only two days when the letter arrived.
‘From a solicitor,’ murmured Jody with a frown and an almost fearful hesitancy about opening it.
Ten minutes later she was at the telephone, obeying the request made to her in the letter, and a quarter of an hour after that she was racing across the smooth lawn, hair flying.
‘Bill,’ she gasped, waving the letter in the breeze. ‘Bill, we’re saved! I’ve inherited half a castle in Ireland—I did tell you I was part Irish, didn’t I? It was on my mother’s side. Bill, are you listening to me?’
‘Well, now, yes and no, young Jody. People don’t inherit half a castle; it has to be a whole one or nothing at all. Sit down and get your breath back.’
‘Another person already owns the other half—he was a partner in this hotel—’
‘Hotel?’
‘The castle was turned into an hotel years ago and I own half of it! I have to see the solicitor at ten o’clock in the morning. Oh, Bill, you did predict that something would happen, remember?’
‘I did, but it was only for something to say.’
‘Well, it’s come true! And you’re coming with me to Ireland. There’ll be lots of things you’ll like to do at a castle!’
‘Maybe I’d not be wanted by this other person.’
Jody’s head lifted. She was very sure that she was part-owner of this castle, because the solicitor had convinced her of it. And she was also very sure that Bill was going to Ireland with her, no matter whether this other person wanted him or not.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Two
The car slowed down, then stopped at the gate. On an imposing blue-and-gold plaque fixed to one of the gateposts Jody read ‘Rushwood Castle Hotel,’ and a long deep sigh seemed to escape from the very heart of her.
‘Is it true?’ she whispered to the old man sitting beside her in the back of the cab which had brought them from Shannon Airport. Old Bill was either too awed or too uncomfortable to reply, and in any case, a uniformed attendant emerged from the interior of an ivy-clad stone lodge to ask if they were staying in the hotel.
‘I’m Miss Jody Hendrick, and I’m expected.’ Jody leant towards the open window to scan the man’s weather-worn face. He was smiling suddenly, examining her with interest.
‘Of course, Miss Hendrick.’ The gate swung open for the car to enter the long, curving tree-lined driveway to the castle.
‘Have you ever seen anything like it, Bill?’ Fleetingly a sense of unease cast a shadow over Jody’s previous excitement, and her stomach muscles were twisting themselves into hard little knots. There was still no answer from the man in the corner. He just sat there looking inexpressibly uncomfortable in the smart grey suit he was wearing, and several times Jody had seen him running a bony finger inside the collar of his immaculate white shirt. For the whole hour and a half in the airplane he had sat erect, just as if he were confined within a straitjacket and could not move.
‘I daresay I shan’t like it,’ he sighed at last as the car bowled along the avenue of trees to skirt a picturesque golf course where several of the hotel guests were playing, their holiday clothes bright and colourful in the sunshine. Massive trees abounded all over the beautiful grounds, and as the car drew closer to the magnificent castellated mansion, the gleaming island-studded waters of Lough Corrib came into view, set against the dramatic backdrop of the mountains of Connemara to the west. Jody gasped audibly, and even Old Bill stirred himself to show interest.
‘I can’t believe it’s really happening,’ breathed Jody, clutching her handbag as if in the gesture she would find support. ‘How has it all happened, Bill, and to me?’ It was natural that she should think of the house in which she lived and which now belonged to Rochelle, and it was natural that she should compare the two. And of course, there was no comparison.
The car swung over a cut-stone bridge across the shining river, then passed through a high, turreted gateway before coming to a smooth halt outside the impressive front entrance to the hotel.
‘Perhaps I shall like it after all,’ conceded Bill, but there was little enthusiasm in his voice, and he did decide to add, ‘But I don’t know why I let you persuade me to come on this visit, little Jody, seeing it’s only for a day or so.’
‘I couldn’t come alone,’ she said reasonably. ‘Besides, Mr. Thorpe, the solicitor, said I ought to have someone with me.’
‘You could have waited till Rochelle was home, and she could have come. She has the sort of business head I think you’ll need when dealing with this Irish fellow. They’re a wild lot, and they keep their women under—that’s a known fact, even in these days of women’s liberation, and I’m worried, lass, that you’ll be browbeaten by this man who owns the other half of this hotel. He’ll not like the idea of a female partner, especially a child like you!’