“Oh, the engine’s functioning fine. We made a good bargain there. No. I’ve been designing. Who knows—if Henstridge’s ever folds, I could make my way independently. Go to America even, and sell my skills over there. I could make a fortune.”
“Jack, I think you’re joking with me. Now is not the time.” She looked at him sourly, then stopped at the foot of the stairs and said, “Oh, I forgot! A letter came for you this morning. I picked it up with mine by mistake—the handwriting’s not too good. It’s on the chimney-piece in your study. Oh, I say, are you going? You’re not going to help me with Georgie?”
Jack told her she would have to manage without him, and mounted the stairs two at a time, heart pounding. In his study, he grabbed up the letter and sank onto the brown leather Chesterfield. Without bothering to read the pages, he flicked through to the signature and there it was, as he’d been hoping—Bella Hart.
“Oh, you little darling!” He brought the pages up to his mouth and kissed them. Then he began to read.
There were details, lots of details about what she ate, the furniture in her room, the layout of the gardens—she was clearly fascinated by her new life. There were little character sketches too, of some of the servants—which made him smile—and of her mother and brother, which didn’t. But nowhere did she say how she felt about it all, or whether she’d ever come back.
He scanned the letter again, hands trembling, and found a morsel of hope. She had addressed the letter, ‘My dear Jack’. She had ended it with, ‘Truly yours’. Was this last just a mistake, from an inexperienced letter-writer? Or was it quite deliberate?
He cast the letter onto the seat beside him and stood up. On the wall opposite were taped many of his engineering drawings, all made on starched linen with a draughtsman’s precision. In amongst these were some of his earlier works, when he’d tried his hand at less mechanical subjects. There was a watercolour of Harriet, sitting at her pianoforte, with the sun glinting on her hair. There was a pencil sketch of Mama wearing the spectacles she only put on when they had no guests—a strictly kept family secret. Jack had exaggerated them, and the concentrated look on her face, like a cartoon. A few servants about their daily tasks figured in the gallery of his works.
But hidden underneath one of the large engine cut-away drawings was a little sketch of Bella in her Sunday dress and bonnet, taken from memory and committed to paper not long after she’d been spirited away from him.
He pulled the picture from its pin and held it in one hand, then picked up the letter with the other. He stared at them both for a moment, then crumpled them up together and tossed them into the empty hearth.
“I’m being stupid. Extraordinarily stupid. She can’t consider me now. She’s an earl’s sister, and what am I? What the hell am I? I’m as far beneath her now as she was beneath me when she came out of the workhouse. I should have left well alone, well alone. I just hope she’s happy. That I shall always wish for.”
His muttered monologue was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Praying he hadn’t been overheard, he opened it to find his father standing there.
“I thought Harriet was in her room, but she’s gone. I can’t find her anywhere. Do you have any idea where she might be? Hold on, why aren’t you with Mr Merriwether? I thought he came to see you.”
Jack’s face must have given him away, for Papa immediately let out an oath and turned on his heel, bellowing for a footman. Then he turned on Jack.
“You know I don’t want her to be alone with him. I’ve heard this dreadful rumour that’s been circulating about him and a servant. It’s a sin in the eyes of the Lord, whatever Society may think. And he’s let Harriet down too—most appallingly. He may be your friend, but I thought you understood how I felt about this.”
Jack pushed his shoulders back and levelled his chin at his father. “I don’t wish to be spoken to like that, father. If you respect me at all, you will treat me like a grown man. I’m capable of making my own decisions.”
Papa’s face had darkened, but Jack met his glare without blinking, and tilted his head a little to one side, almost daring him. He was half a head taller than his father and far too strong to pick a fight with.
The silence between them bristled for a moment, then Papa shrugged his shoulders, shot Jack a filthy look, and marched off down the passageway. Jack had to hope Georgie and Harriet had found somewhere secret for their conversation. By standing up to Papa, he’d roused his ire even further, and Harriet and Georgie were weaker targets than himself.
Perhaps he should leave home for a while. He had business interests in London, and personal ones in Somerset and also—of course—in Derbyshire.
It felt like the sun had come out from behind a cloud. He’d feel infinitely better if he left the smoke and factory noise of Warbury for a while.
But should he head west first, or should he go north?
Chapter 54
Having stayed up long into the night, Bella and her mother were sitting over a late breakfast. Mama was in a particularly good mood, having hosted her first dinner party at Linden Hall, under the direction of Henry.
“I thought it went rather well, don’t you?” she was saying. “You looked delightful in that russet dress—you have a lovely figure. And you remembered to sit up straight, and not say anything too controversial.”
Bella clenched her fists in her lap. She was being treated like a child again. “I hardly said anything at all.”
“Which is quite how it should be. Ladies are not expected to have too many opinions— Henry has taught me that. That Mr Masters was a nice young man, don’t you think?”
“He had a laugh like a donkey.” Or maybe a hyena. But she’d never heard one of those, only read about them in books.
“Well, at least it shows he’s good-humoured. You’ll need a husband who is good-natured, you know.”
Were all upper-class mothers like this, looking on every young man in the area as a prospective suitor? The idea was infuriating.
“Surely, you’re not thinking of marrying me off already, to someone I’ve only met once?”
“No, of course not. Ah, here’s Phillips with the post. I wonder that Henry has not surfaced yet.”
The post. She mustn’t look too excited about the post, or her mother would know exactly how the land lay. “He’ll have a headache. Did you see how much liquor he was getting through last night?”
Her mother shuffled through the letters. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll have a word with him. Oh look, here’s one for you—what poor writing. Surely that’s not your Jack’s writing?”
“I’ve no idea what his writing looks like, Mama, as I’ve never seen it.” She tried to sound casual, but her heart was cartwheeling as she opened the envelope. There was a single sheet inside, with scrawl on both sides of it. At the bottom, it was signed ‘Lucy Freeman’.
She bit back the disappointment. A letter from Lucy was a delight, and she should be grateful.
“It’s from my friend in the workhouse. Can I go back there and fetch her? There’s so much space here—Henry would hardly even notice she was here.”
“That may be true, but—”
“Oh, no! No! How can I ever live with this?” Bella’s hand clutched at her throat as she re-read the first line of Lucy’s letter. She could barely take it in. “She was so kind to me, and I treated her like this, not even writing because I was so bound up in my own life—how could I be so selfish?”
Her mother dropped the pile of letters onto the tablecloth. “What is it? You’re white as a sheet. Bad news?”
She choked out the words. “Miss Ainsty is… gone. She died a few weeks ago. She was my best friend—she gave me my first decent dress, shoes—”
Mama left her chair and leaned over Bella, her arm coming around her shoulders. “Miss Ainsty, from the same workhouse you were in? The lady who wanted you to be a teacher?”
“Who else? I had no other friend except Lucy, and she didn’t do as much for me as Miss
Ainsty did.”
Bella swiped at a tear as her mother drew her head back and said, “But we already knew about Miss Ainsty. Didn’t Henry tell you? When we went there to enquire after you, the lady, Mrs Uphill, said Miss Ainsty might have known where you’d gone, but she’d just passed away from a brain fever.”
They had known? And not said? What kind of a family had she come into?
Her mother hugged her again. “I’m sorry, my love, I thought Henry would have told you.”
“Are you taking my name in vain?”
Bella’s head shot up, her face wet with hot, angry tears as her brother entered the room.
His gaze swept over them. “Oh charming,” he said, pinching the skin at the bridge of his nose. “Just what I need—hysterics at breakfast. Mama, Isabella is clearly unwell—why don’t you take her upstairs?”
Before Bella could respond, her mother had hauled her out of her chair and was pulling her from the room. “Don’t waste your time,” she hissed in her ear. “We’ll sort it out later.”
It was probably just as well. Bella would have flown at Henry like a she-cat if he’d said anything snide about Miss Ainsty. And that wouldn’t resolve anything. She let her mother escort her up to her bedchamber.
The world had gone dark. Why hadn’t she written to Miss Ainsty, to at the very least thank her for all she’d done, and to apologise for leaving in such a hurry? Now, there was nothing that could be done to make amends. There was nothing she could do or say to take away that agony of guilt. Death was so horribly final.
She fought back the tears, while her mother daubed lavender water on her temples, muttered soothing nonsense, and sent their maid Watson for sweet lemonade and some Morrison’s vegetable pills.
“Listen, love,” her mother cooed, handing her a lacy handkerchief. “We could go into town today if that would cheer you up. I’ll make some excuse to Henry. It’s time you met your grandfather. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? There’s nothing you can do for your teacher friend now. But we can go and have a jolly chat with my father, now, can’t we?”
“It’s alright, Mama. I’m stronger than you think. But yes—I’d love to see Grandpa if you can arrange it.”
“Lie down now and let Watson look after you.” Her mother reached across to the bedside table. “Here’s your book. Just rest quietly for a little while and read, sleep even. Then this afternoon, when Henry’s busy about the estate, we’ll take one of the carriages and go into town.”
Chapter 55
“How did you manage to get around Henry?” Bella asked as the Sutcliffe carriage rattled through the middle of the market town of Ashwell.
“I told him we’d pay a visit to the chemist and see if there were any new tonics in stock, something that would perk you up. And I’m running an errand for him—he wants to invite some old college friends to stay and requires a train timetable. Don’t let me forget it.”
Bella gazed out the window, feeling free for the first time since she’d arrived in Derbyshire. But this place was not Warbury, with its hustle and bustle, the constant whistling of the trains, and the clanking and hooting of the factories.
“This town is smaller than I’m used to.”
“I know. Lovely, isn’t it? I think compared to the places I’ve seen, that it’s almost quaint.”
Quaint sounded dull. “How do people manage without the factories?”
“Oh, there’s some industry, but much agriculture still. In this particular spot, owning land is of the utmost importance. Young Mr Masters has thousands of acres, I’m told. He has many tenants who farm, all good, tidy people, they say.”
Bella remembered that laugh. “What does he farm? Donkeys?”
“Now don’t be rude, Isabella dear. The man can’t help it. I know you’re upset today, but please mind your tongue—there’ll be people who might overhear our conversation while we’re on the street.”
Not that there were many people to be seen. “Eavesdrop, you mean.”
“Dear, dear—we are cynical today, aren’t we?”
Again, her mother was admonishing her like an adult would a child. She tipped her head back. “Mama, don’t you feel even the slightest bit bitter at the way life has treated you?”
Her mother looked down, but she didn’t take much time to think before she said, “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and I’m happy enough where I am now.”
“But wouldn’t it of been better if Papa had lived, and you’d wed him?”
Mama sighed. “It may have seemed like it at the time, but who knows if things aren’t going to get even better—just as they are now. We’re all together at last, and there’s no guilt, no resentment… a fresh start for us all. But enough—we’ve arrived.”
The carriage had stopped halfway up a steeply-sloping street. The road here was so narrow, two vehicles could barely pass, so the coachman moved on as soon as he had set them down, saying he’d wait at the first wide spot he could find. The buildings on either side of the street, of some great age, jutted out in the upper storeys, overshadowing the street with gloom. Nonetheless, the place bustled, more than Bella had expected, and the butcher’s shop she and her mother entered was healthy with custom.
A round-faced man of middle age stood behind the counter, dropping chops into the open bag of a dour-looking woman. When he glanced up and saw the new arrivals, he looked startled, and his cheekbones reddened. Another man, an elderly gentleman with wispy hair and a bloodied apron, brushed past them, angrily shoving a mongrel out onto the street.
“God damn that dog. He’s a better thief than the tinkers at Flinders Copse.” He looked up and spotted Bella and her mother. Briskly he turned to his assistant and said, “Peter, see to these two ladies. I’m going out back.”
“Pa!” Mama laid a hand on the man’s arm as he moved away, but he shook it off, and his expression was fierce.
“Can’t you see I’m busy, girl?” he hissed, as he made for the counter. In an instant, he had swung it up, passed behind it and disappeared under the beams and hanging hams into the private room beyond.
Mama’s handkerchief went to her nose. “I really can’t stand the smell of a butcher’s shop,” she said abruptly. “We should leave.”
“Well. really, I’m not having this!” Bella’s chin shot up. She squeezed her mother’s arm, then pushed to the front of the queue of customers, ignoring all the angry stares. “I need to speak to your master now, in private. Have him sent for at once.”
Chapter 56
The man, Peter, shot a look at Mama from under his eyelashes, then gave Bella a nod, saying, “Yes, Ma’am, Miss. Surely, Miss—anything to oblige thee,” and vanished from view. Bella ignored the whispers from behind her while she waited, and when she looked around, her mother had recovered and was back on her dignity again.
Gradually the muttering behind them stopped. When the hot-faced Peter finally returned and waved the ladies through into the back, several of the townspeople tried to catch Bella’s eye and nodded politely at her mother. Clearly, wealth impressed the customers of Hart’s butcher’s shop.
Peter took them through a noxious storage area and into a small parlour, where Mr Gilbert Hart had gone to ground. He was in his rocking chair, creaking back and forth. Bella feared he would pitch forwards onto his face. Her grandfather was also smoking a pipe as if it were more important to him than air.
“I didn’t want to see thee. ‘Tis not a good time. And if Peter weren’t nearly twice me size, I’d beat him for making me let you in here. Me grandson has made it clear enough what you all do think of me, so why don’t you just let me hang onto me pride and get out of ‘ere?”
Not much of a welcome for the granddaughter he hadn’t seen since she was a babe. Bella glared at him. “Grandpa, I’d no idea you were such a grumpy old sod.”
She felt her mother bristle beside her. “Isabella, you’re not in the workhouse now.”
“I might as well be, with such a miserable, long-faced old bligh
ter for a grandpa.”
His chair had stopped moving, and his pipe clung to his lips as he stared and stared. Then his head went back, and he let out a great yelp of laughter. “By, aren’t you a right one. Me granddaughter, I presume? You don’t mince your words, duck. Eh, but aren’t thee a breath of fresh air after that stuck up brother of your’n.”
“Pleased to meet you, Grandpa.” She held out her hand, and he propped up his pipe and took her hand and held it firmly. Then he looked over her shoulder at Mama, and his face fell.
“It wasn’t my fault we haven’t been to see you, Father. Henry is so determined that we should all rise above our humble roots—”
“And you too lily-livered to tell ‘im that family’s family and there’s nowt he can do about his beginnings. Tha’ shouldn’t let ‘im keep you away from me, thy own flesh and blood—no, tha’ shouldn’t. They’ve done enough damage, the Sutcliffes—it’s time it all stopped for good, and the past were dead and buried. But no, he won’t stoop to come ‘ere ‘imself and see his poor old Grandpa, or even get ‘is meat here—even though me hare and coney are the freshest you can get hereabouts. He’s a bad one, Sarah, and I’m surprised tha’ doesn’t know it yet.”
Her mother gawped, but Bella said, “He may seem a bit odd, Grandpa, but that’s only ‘cos he’s proud, just like you. He’s been brought up different… but I haven’t. I’ve been in the workhouse most of me life and a factory town after that, working as a teacher, so I’ve still got me feet planted firmly on the ground.”
“A teacher, eh? Clever girl. Come over ‘ere and give thy miserable old Grandpa a kiss. She’s pretty, b’aint she, Sarah? And lively too. Wait up—I’ll get Meg to make us a cup of tea. Find a seat. As th’art here now, we may as well make the best of it.”
As they settled down in the tiny but neat room, Mama said, “We won’t be able to come that often. Henry doesn’t like it, as you know. We only got away with it today because he’s busy—and Bella was upset this morning, so I thought she needed to get out.”
Workhouse Waif Page 19
