She’d write to Jack first of course. But there was no need to tell her mama that.
Chapter 50
Bella had discovered letters were customarily left on the marquetry table in the hall, where they were sorted by the butler for collection. He also sorted any letters that were delivered to Linden Hall and bestowed them on their grateful recipients at breakfast. Unless they were clearly business letters, in which case, Lord Linden preferred not to think about them until after he had filled his stomach and led the servants’ prayers. So, it surprised Bella to come down early next morning and discover her brother leafing through the mail to be sent.
She was about to ask what he was looking for when she saw he had one of her own letters in his hand, but he cut in first. “Who is Lucy Freeman?”
“My dear friend at the Union. She has a club foot so nobody would employ her. She has such a sweet nature, you could never lose your temper—”
“Spare me the detail, Isabella.” He cast the letter back onto the table. Then he picked up another. She’d been busy the day before. “And Miss Ainsty?”
“Yes, I don’t know her… her Christian name. It was she that was bringing me up to be a teacher. She taught me all I know, and even paid for—”
“Again, spare me the detail. I daresay she’s proper enough. I wonder, though, if your friend Lucy can even read.”
“Of course, she can. Miss Ainsty was a good teacher.” He was making her cross. Were all brothers so overbearing?
“Mind that tone, Isabella. It displeases me. Now, this is the one I was really interested in, and I hope I’m wrong about who it’s for.”
She saw the address and flushed. “Why should you? It’s only Jack Henstridge, the mill owner’s son. I know he can read.”
Lord Henry’s knuckles whitened as he crumpled the letter in his grasp. “You will mind how you talk to me, Isabella. I am your master now. Without me, you are nothing.”
Then his face softened, and he came a step nearer. “Forgive me—I’m renowned for having a bit of a temper. You’ll soon learn how to avoid being on the receiving end of it. But you cannot write to this Jack.” He spoke more gently.
Her heart thumped hard. “Why not? He’s my friend. He saved me from the beam engine when I got caught up in it.”
“And you helped save him when he nearly got caught in the… carding machine, was it? So, the score is settled now. I see no reason for any further correspondence between you.”
“As I said, he’s my friend. I had to leave without saying a proper goodbye. I really wanted to make up for it now. That’s why I wrote.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed. “You can open it up and read it if you like—there’s nothing dirty in there like you might be thinking.”
The next moment she was backing away, and her mouth was gaping, for a look of such fury had come over her brother’s face, she was afraid he’d strike her. And although he was slight in build like herself, there was such rage in him, she feared he would knock her across the hall.
As she cowered away, he seemed to recover himself, and the low, soft tones came out again, but through gritted teeth this time. “You will learn, Isabella, that it is not wise to defy me. I forbid you to write to this jackanapes. Not just me, but all Society forbids it. You, as an unmarried woman, may not write to an unmarried man. There has been enough scandal in this family already, and it stops here.” And as he said ‘here’, he pulled her letter between his hands, tore it to shreds and threw it on the floor.
She was too frightened and astonished to do anything, and next moment, he’d snapped for a footman to come and sweep up the mess he’d made. Then he just walked off towards the door of the breakfast room, motioning her to follow him. She scurried through in his wake.
Her mama looked up. “Whatever is it, my dear? You look pale. Did you not sleep well?”
“Don’t ask her that, Mama. She’ll tell you we’ve just had a little quarrel, but it was really nothing, nothing at all. When I say what it was about, you will, I’m sure, be able to convince her that I did the right thing.”
“I’m sure you know best, Henry.” Mama’s voice was soothing, and she patted Bella’s hand as she lowered herself shakily into a chair. “Cheer up, my darling. Don’t forget we’re going into town today to try those new gowns on. And they will definitely become her, don’t you think, Henry? She’ll be a rare sight to look at.”
“She’d better be. We don’t want prospective suitors put off by her appearance. I can’t wait for her hair to reach a decent length again—although I must say, Watson’s handiwork is exceedingly good. You wouldn’t know Bella had been bred in a workhouse now, would you?” He laughed.
Bella’s foot was jiggling madly under the table, which it always did when she was agitated, but couldn’t do anything about it. She was still smarting from the heartless treatment of her letter to Jack, which she’d constructed so painstakingly. But there was something worse than that, worse even than the fact that they were referring to her as ‘she’ again, like she wasn’t even there. It was the bullying, threatening behaviour of Henry—behaviour which she thought she’d left behind her forever in the workhouse.
She might have carriages at her disposal now, and comfort, and fine food at her command, but at what price? The freedom she had so recently won was one casualty—but there was something else. From what he’d said, it sounded like Henry wanted to marry her off as soon as possible.
So, what was the point of him bringing her to her ancestral home and reuniting her with her family, if all he wanted to do was get rid of her again?
Chapter 51
Bella had devised a plan, which she put into place the very next day. Having pleased her mother by cooing over a mountain of fabrics and dress designs she didn’t understand, she played on Mama’s good mood and sent her off with a freshly-penned letter for Jack.
As soon as the lady returned, Bella pounced on her. “Did you manage to post my letter?”
Her mother grabbed Bella by the elbow and whisked her into their sitting room, closing the door with a snap. “I did, but Henry would have me strung up at the crossroads if he knew I’d helped you. There must be no more letters after that one. And we’d better contrive to intercept the reply—if there is one—because Henry will be watching out for that as well.”
Bella resisted the urge to growl with frustration. Both her mother and brother were treating her like a child. But she wasn’t. She’d dealt with more experiences in her short life than either of them.
But she kept her voice casual as she said, “There may not need to be many letters between us. I’ve asked him to come and stay.”
“You’ve done what?”
She felt a twinge of guilt as her mother paled. It was a lie, of course—she hadn’t invited Jack to stay. But she wanted to be able to write to him again when she had more to relate about her life at Linden. So, it was just as she had planned when her mother said, “Then you must write to him again, immediately, and tell him you made a mistake. He can’t come here.”
“How can I if I’m not allowed to write to him?”
“Just one letter, to take back the invitation. You should do it right away.”
Good. The woman was playing right into her hands. “Oh, I’m sure I needn’t do it right away. He’s hardly likely to come dashing up here on a whim. He has a beam engine to look after, remember.”
“No, please.” Her mother was looking really white now. “As a favour to me, don’t take the risk. There would be hell to pay if Jack Henstridge turned up on our doorstep.”
“Then certainly I will write and put him off, as you’re so concerned about it. But we shouldn’t let Henry lord it over us like he does. It ain’t right.”
“It isn’t right, Isabella. Talk properly, please. And don’t speak ill of your brother. He has rescued us both from penury. And take my word for it, when you’ve known the good life, it’s a hundred times more painful to be cast back on the midden again.”
Mama sounded like a sc
hoolteacher talking to a naughty child. “But I’m a grown woman, Mama. I’d look after you if you didn’t want to be a lady’s maid again—I could get another teaching job and support us both.”
Her mother snorted. “That is not the point at all, Isabella, and you know it isn’t. I don’t want to bully you, but you must see that we can neither of us afford to antagonise Henry.”
“But he antagonises me. I’m used to standing up for meself.” Why did her mother have so little backbone? She must have been a pushover for that lusty Charlie Sutcliffe when he came knocking.
“Myself, Isabella, myself. Don’t you see you don’t need to think about working anymore? Henry’s rich—richer than you could probably even imagine. You will have fine things, the chance to go out and enjoy yourself, comfortable accommodation and industrious servants. You’ll make new friends, and then you won’t ever want to go back to the sphere you came from. You’ll develop new skills in delicate needlework and learn to play musical instruments. You’ll come to want only the finest that money can buy.”
Mama was pacing the carpet now, gesturing earnestly as she talked. The things she urged her daughter to appreciate were clearly the same things she had wanted for herself. Bella wondered exactly how long she had wanted such things—had the relationship with Charles Sutcliffe been an attempt to marry money, which went sadly wrong? If so, Mama was entirely to blame for the consequences. And for Bella’s blighted childhood.
Love between a man and a woman was something she now understood, but greed? That was a sin. Would she be able to find it within herself to forgive her mother?
What was it Jack had said? Try and stop the endless cycle of revenge and learn to forgive. Maybe he was right, after all.
Her mother stopped pacing and took her by the shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. “Now, promise me you and Henry will try to be friends. And that you’ll write again and tell that Jack Henstridge he’s not welcome here. Trust me on this, child—if you feel anything for the man, it’s best you forget him as soon as possible. He could only bring trouble to this house. And that could bring harm to us all.”
Bella wanted to argue at the high-handedness of her new family. But something in her mother’s face made her bite her tongue.
There, deep in the green eyes, was an expression of genuine fear.
Chapter 52
Jack had folded himself into an old Windsor chair in Mrs Day’s parlour and was wearing his most endearing expression. Or so he hoped.
“Are you sure you couldn’t manage the school just for a little while until a new teacher is found? You did such a wonderful job with the children before you were taken ill, and you have made a huge improvement in the last month.”
“Oh, no, indeed, sir.” Mrs Day spoke with an exaggerated quaver in her voice. “I’m that feeble. Jenny from next door has to come in and look after me since that Miss Hart’s gone.”
Damn. He’d really hoped she would accept the teaching post back. She must be getting used to indolence and being waited upon. He couldn’t say he blamed her, at her age. “Well, what about Phoebe Froggatt then? She did well enough for a while.”
“I don’t know about that, sir. With Marie Froggatt’s babe due in February, they’ve put Phoebe in the mill to train up and bring a bit of money in. They’re very close, them two families.”
His mind worked quickly. There had to be a solution. “If Marie’s baby isn’t due till February, surely she could carry on working a little longer? I could find her a place at Henstridge’s—something light, a mender perhaps. If that brought in enough for the family to save up for the baby, then we could at least have Phoebe for a while until a more suitable teacher is found.”
“Well, don’t go looking for one in the workhouse, is my advice. That Miss Hart’s been nothing but a nuisance since she first came here.”
“When I want your opinion, Mrs Day, I shall ask for it.”
“Oh!” Mrs Day stared at him and brought her wrinkled hand up to cover her mouth. “I’m that sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. It’s my illness, you know—my brain just don’t work like it used to. It’s a cross I’m just having to bear.”
And those around you as well. No, that was unkind. But failure hurt, and he’d failed. As he rose to leave, he said politely, “Thank you for your time, Mrs Day. I shall speak to the Froggatts all the same, see if I can’t negotiate something to free up Phoebe. And I’ll tell my sister you’re still poorly and get her to drop round a hamper for you.”
“Oh, you’re too kind, both of you. What a kind family! Pardon me if I don’t get up to see you out, sir.”
He left, shaking his head, mounted up and urged his horse back in the direction of home. He needed to make haste, as Georgie had expressed a strong desire to discuss something with him. It wouldn’t be enjoyable, as all the man wanted to talk about was his row with Hattie, and such affairs of the heart were not the sort of thing Jack wanted to think about right now.
When he arrived back at Henstridge Hall, he was told Mr Merriwether had been given refreshment and was waiting for him in the drawing room.
Recalling his conversation with Mrs Day, he said on entering, “So, Georgie, are you likely to take a peek at your by-blow when it comes into the world in February? You might just decide it’s the spitting image of you, and you have to adopt it right away.”
Georgie shot up from his chair. “Ye Gods, Jack, you’re mean-spirited today. I thought you sympathised with my situation. Some friend you turned out to be.”
Jack poured himself a brandy, then threw himself into a leather armchair. “Sorry, Georgie. I’m just a bit out of sorts, that’s all. Help yourself to another brandy.”
“I will, but you’ll see I’m watering it down a good deal. No more drunken mistakes for me.” He stared at nothing for a moment, and Jack thought he’d forgotten his drink. Then he focussed on Jack again and said, “I know why you’re in a pet. It’s because the delectable Miss Bella Hart has gone away. You’re in no better state than I.”
“You didn’t come here to talk to me about Miss Hart, I’m sure.” Jack knew he sounded brusque, but he couldn’t help it. “So, you may as well ask what you came to ask.”
Georgie rolled his eyes, collected his drink, and returned to his chair. He locked gazes with Jack. “You know what I want to ask.”
“About Hattie? No, she hasn’t said anything much to me. She’s up in her room now—I could have her fetched for you.”
“You know damn well that would not do at all.”
Jack clicked his tongue. “How can you resolve this problem if you don’t actually speak to each other?”
“I don’t know what else to say. I owned up to it all at the time, told her everything, and what a mistake it was and how much I felt about her—how I have always felt about her.”
Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you cared for her that much, you should have waited for marriage instead of bedding one of the servants. It seems to me you have to be abstemious about more than just your drinking, George.”
“And I suppose you’re all purity and perfection. Anyway, this lecture isn’t helping.” Georgie swilled his brandy around the glass and stared gloomily into it before taking a sip.
“Throwing stones at me isn’t going to help.” Jack softened his tone. “You’re going to have to find the courage to speak to Hattie again. And again, and again, as often as it takes—if you’re so serious about having her. I say, what’s the matter? Have I just said something wrong?”
“No, no!” Georgie had leapt to his feet, splashing the brandy onto his trousers. But he didn’t notice this, for he was now pacing around the room, frantically counting.
“Due in February, you said? Nine months back from February…. yes, damn it, it does! It exonerates me completely. Marie Froggatt was already pregnant when she came to my bed, and like as not knew about it too. Why, the little bitch! She must have been hoping to pin it on me, and get a handout for her bastard.”
<
br /> Jack risked a chuckle, sharing in his friend’s delight at this revelation. “Foolish woman. She obviously didn’t realise how mean you were.”
Georgie rubbed his hands together and put his face close to Jack’s. “I’ll bet anything you like that red-headed groom, Sandy Pershore, is the father. I’d take a wager on it. You care to bet a few guineas?”
“Now, don’t get carried away, George—it was just what Mrs Day said. I could be wrong. You’d better check it up if you can.”
“I will, I will.” Georgie had moved away again and was pacing the carpet. “This gives me new hope. You could send for Harriet now. I feel strong enough to face her disdain, knowing I’m innocent.”
Jack smiled. His friend’s pleasure made him more cheerful than he’d been in days. Not happy, though. A long way from that.
“Still not entirely innocent, George. And before I call Hattie, we’d better find you some clean trousers.”
If his friend and his sister could find lasting happiness, it was something to rejoice in. Even if he’d lost all hope of such joy for himself.
Chapter 53
As Harriet came down the stairs, Jack saw she was looking pale.
“I really don’t want to do this, Jack. It’ll hurt him, and it’ll hurt me.”
Georgie had been Jack’s friend since school. The man had behaved like an idiot, yes, but perhaps he should be given a second chance.
“Then don’t reject him outright. You would make him the happiest man in the world if you agreed to forgive him, Hattie. But you must really mean it—I know you. If in your heart you don’t mean it, you’ll end up trying to punish him for the rest of your days. And bitterness is no foundation for a marriage.”
She tilted her head to one side and regarded him. “You’ve become very philosophical of late. It’s not like you. And you’ve not been down to visit your precious engine so often, either.”
Workhouse Waif Page 18
