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Abigail watched in surprise as tears welled up in his eyes.
The housekeeper joined them. ‘Lord Somerville, I am so sorry for—’
He turned around and rushed straight past her, not looking her in the eye, although he did pause for a quick moment to pat her on the shoulder, saying, ‘Keep up the good work.’ And with that, he rounded the corner up ahead and was gone.
Abigail and the housekeeper stood there in silence, staring after him. The housekeeper glanced at her shoulder. ‘What just happened?’ In all the years she’d worked for him, he’d never once acknowledged her, let alone given her a compliment.
Abigail turned back to the room and stared at the painting Lord Somerville had been looking at before he welled up and disappeared. She turned to the housekeeper. ‘Who is that woman?’
The housekeeper glanced through the open doorway at the painting, grasped the door handle and closed the door. ‘That was his wife.’
Abigail knew nothing about the Somervilles.
‘She died many years ago.’ The housekeeper took the trolley and pushed it along the corridor as she spoke. ‘She died in childbirth.’
‘A long time ago,’ Abigail commented.
The housekeeper nodded. ‘I remember that night – few people round these parts would ever forget it. It was the night of the Great Storm.’
‘October seventeenth, 1987.’
The housekeeper stopped at the lift and turned to Abigail. ‘You can’t remember that night, you would have been too young.’
‘Oh, I remember the date, though.’ Abigail smiled. ‘It’s my birthday.’
‘You were born that night, here?’
‘In Aldeburgh at the cottage hospital.’
The housekeeper shook her head. ‘Oh, of course, how could I forget? Your father …’ she trailed off.
Abigail sighed; there it was again, that awkwardness about bringing up the subject. ‘Yes, my father died the night I was born.’
‘Your mother and I, we go way back,’ said the housekeeper.
Abigail had thought she recognised her. She hadn’t seen her for years, but she was sure the housekeeper had been her babysitter sometimes when she was little. ‘Was it you who got Emily the job here?’
‘Yes.’ She returned to the subject of that night. ‘You weren’t the only one who lost a parent the night of the Great Storm. Lord Somerville’s son, Oliver, lost his mother in childbirth at Aldeburgh cottage hospital. What a coincidence – you were born the same night.’
Abigail didn’t mention that three babies had been born that night. She didn’t want to bring up the subject of Toby. Unfortunately, the housekeeper did. She touched Abigail’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your husband.’
‘My mum told you, didn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Look, I understand if you want to quit, Abigail. Lord Somerville is a …’ she lowered her voice just in case. ‘He can be quite narrow-minded and opinionated. It’s okay if you do want to leave and not come back. I’ll find a way of covering for your sister to keep her job open.’
Abigail shook her head. It had not put her off. She still wanted to learn more about the family.
The housekeeper grinned. ‘I am so pleased. It’s about time somebody put him in his place. I didn’t expect it to be from a little slip of a thing like you – no offence.’
‘None taken.’
‘Well, then. Would you like to finish your shift this afternoon?’
‘Absolutely.’
The housekeeper looked at her, pleasantly surprised. When Abigail’s mother had phoned her and said that Emily wouldn’t make it in that week because she was still recovering from the flu, but that she could send her other daughter instead, she’d had no qualms about accepting the arrangement. She had been sceptical that morning that Abigail would last the day. But Abigail was proving her wrong – her little run-in with Lord Somerville that had almost got them fired notwithstanding.
