The old man raised an eyebrow. “There lass, and what’s been eating at thee, then? Tell old Grandpa.”
There was kindness in his face, but strength too. And he seemed far more inclined to listen to the stories of her past life than Mama had. Bella poured out her tale of woe about Miss Ainsty’s death, and Grandpa Hart listened to her without interruption.
He put his head on one side. “You have a care, my dear. Seems to me tha’rt too soft-hearted to be involved with that one up there,” and here he cocked his head in the general direction of the Hall. Mama fidgeted uneasily on her chair but said nothing.
Soon Bella was telling her grandfather about many of the things that had happened to her in the workhouse, and he blew through his moustache and puffed up his chest at the injustices she’d suffered. When she started telling him of her new life in Warbury, he offered, “Tha’ might have done as well to stay there, lass. It was a good set up there, with thy lively-sounding young man.”
She blushed and shook her head. “I don’t know if it were really like that, Grandpa… but then, maybe it was.”
“Happen tha’d not be sorry to see him again?”
Mama spluttered into her tea. “Father, please. Can’t you see none of this is doing Isabella any good? She has a new life here with me, a far better one than she could ever have hoped for—even if this Jack Henstridge was thinking about her seriously. All your chatter is going to make her discontented, and what good will that do her? I don’t think we should come again if that’s the way you’re going to set her thinking.”
“Tha’ was always a coward, Sarah. Tha’ could have had that Charles if tha’d stuck out for him. Tha’ should have kept thy goods back, that tha’ should, not used thy babies to try and manipulate ‘im.”
She went white, and her teacup came crashing down onto the saucer. “How can you say such things to me? I was too young to know any better at the time. And a fine lot of help you were, dashing up there drunk, with your meat cleaver.”
“What did you do with the meat cleaver, Grandpa?” Bella was fascinated.
“Nothing, as it turned out.” He laughed. “But I’d do it again if I thought fit and I’d make it pay this time. If he up there, or any of his fancy friends lays a hand on thee, I’ll be up there to sort ‘em out girl—don’t you worry.” He shot her a twinkling glance.
“That’s enough of that sort of talk.” Mama sounded breathless as she jumped to her feet. “We must be going now. Isabella, come. I don’t know that I should bring you to see this old man again—he’s far too wild and wicked.”
“It’s thy son that’s wild and wicked,” he said, but he winked at Bella as she left, and whispered to her, “I’ve no doubt thee could bring thyself if thee wanted to see me, eh? No need to bring me daughter—she’s far too much in thrall to Mr Henry for my liking.”
Bella was dragged off through a back door, down a dirty, narrow alleyway and back to their carriage. Mama remained white-lipped as they called at the station to carry out Henry’s commission. She said nothing on the journey back to Linden Hall, but Bella was too busy with musings about her grandfather, and what he’d look like brandishing a meat cleaver—and who Peter was, and why he was so embarrassed by Mama.
When they reached their destination, she was about to alight when her mother clawed at her arm and held her back, saying, “You must forget about that old man, and the life you left behind you, or you’ll never be able to hold your own in polite company. And don’t think I’m posting any more letters for you. You can forget about that Jack Henstridge too. And if you try doing anything behind my back, I’ll tell Henry, so help me, I will!”
Bella shook her off and jumped to the ground, furious. So much for taking her to meet her grandfather to cheer her up. Mama didn’t care how she felt at all.
So, Mama must now be treated with the greatest caution. For, she had just shown herself to be a potential enemy.
Chapter 57
As Jack approached the tiny cottage he’d rented where Finchdean could spend his retirement, he gave himself a moment to admire the location. On the sunny slope of a hill, the place was always warm and dry—good for an invalid. It was close to the sea too, so the air was clean, and the hills opposite gave shelter against storms. He envied the old man this beautiful spot—Bella would love it too, but there was little likelihood she’d ever come here.
Soon he was sitting down with Finchdean, asking him, “Are you feeling better now, sir?”
“There’s no need to ‘sir’ me, young man. You’re far higher in the instep than I. But thank you, yes. I’ve hardly been coughing at all. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, and young Lucy here. She’s an absolute treasure—aren’t you, girl?”
“Oh, Mr Henstridge, ignore him. He’s a silly old man, and I think his illness has gone to his head. I practically laze about these days—compared to the Union this place is a joy. You’ve been too kind to us—far too kind.”
It was good to hear, though Jack always felt like he should be doing more. “You’ve both been kind to Bella, and as she’s not in a position to do anything about it at the moment, I may as well do what I can.”
“I don’t know why you’re here in deepest Somerset when you should be up there in Derbyshire, sorting things out between you both.” Finchdean was a man who didn’t mince his words. Like Bella, in that respect.
“I don’t know that there’s anything to sort out.” Self-conscious, Jack stared out towards the bay from the cottage’s lead-paned window.
“Of course, there’s something.” Lucy smoothed down her starched white apron. “Going by what you’ve said, she cares for you, and you for her. You deserve to get her back.”
Finchdean winked at Jack. “Well, you’ve been told now, young sir. Lucy’s more like to know Bella’s heart than anyone else since they were such close friends. I only wish I knew her myself—she sounds like a good, stout-hearted girl—just like Lucy here. I declare, I’m near well enough to go up to Derbyshire myself to meet Bella again. Especially if you’re not prepared to make the trip, Jack.”
“I hope you’re teasing. You’re in no condition yet for such a journey.”
“I’m vastly improved, aren’t I, Lucy? The air around here is clear and crisp as glass, and I’ve been taking little walks up and down the cliff path every day. Lucy’s been helping me, and I’ll state she’s getting better too, now she’s able to move more freely on that bad foot of hers. She’d only ever walked on cobbles before, in the stink of the workhouse yard. I tell you—judging from my one visit there—that place is like a prison. Oh, if only I’d been able to get Bella out of there sooner.”
“Well, we’re both out now.” Lucy handed Jack a plate bearing a slice of fruit cake.
Finchdean accepted some cake as well. “So, Mr Henstridge, are you going up to check on Bella soon, or must I go?”
By God, but he wanted to. But what kind of reception would he get from the earl? It might make matters awkward for Bella, and he didn’t want that at all. “I don’t know why you’re both so concerned—she sounded perfectly content in her letter to me.”
“And in hers to me,” Lucy said. “Although she won’t like my reply. She was very fond of our teacher, you know. I must write again and tell her how my fortunes have changed, thanks to you, Mr Henstridge.”
Jack felt a twinge of alarm. “I beg you to do no such thing. I don’t want Bella to feel she owes me anything—I don’t want her to think she has to feel grateful to me.” He wanted her to feel more than that.
“It’s a start, my boy. But I’m sure she cares for you greatly, or she wouldn’t have written to you at all. Believe me—there must have been some risk involved.”
“What makes you say that?” He didn’t like the idea of Bella being at risk. There had been enough of that in Warbury.
“Because of her brother. Many of the old servants told me he was a spiteful child, ever one to trample on other people’s happiness. I’ve no fear for Sarah, for
she was always rather shallow and won’t be hurt by him, but I suspect Bella might suffer.”
“Not without protest, if I know her at all.” Jack already knew—and admired—Bella’s inner strength.
“She’s strong enough—she had to be, bullied as she was in the Union. She wasn’t one to cross lightly, by the sound of it.” Finchdean was grim-faced. “Her brother is a different kettle of fish. I doubt she’s ever met anyone like him before. He has the arrogance of his upbringing, the wealth to do anything he wants, and the low boredom threshold of someone who has already done everything. He’d happily step beyond the bounds of propriety if it brought him amusement.”
“But his own sister… surely he’ll not harm her?”
“Who knows? All I can say is, there’s a cruel streak there. He turned most of the servants off without a reference as soon as he came into his own—the good ones, anyway. Now, why would a man turn out a household of good servants and replace them with others of his own choosing?”
Jack pondered the question as Finchdean stared out the window, apparently mesmerised by a distant gull, keening on the wind. It was an odd thing to do, certainly. You might turn off one or two servants, but not jettison the whole lot.
Finchdean’s head snapped around. “I heard of something that happened when the boy was about nine. One of the farm cats had had a litter of kittens, too many to keep. The stable lad was putting them in a sack to drown them, but young Master Henry was down there, and he ran and jumped right on top of the sack, then he stomped up and down, laughing with glee. The stable boy—only just a teenager and a simple but straight lad—was sick on the spot when he saw—oh, Lucy, I’m sorry.”
“I’ll… I’ll be back in a moment. Must take the teacups out,” Lucy squeaked, as she fled the room.
Jack tilted his head on one side. “There’s more?”
“Yes. I stayed in touch with my replacement for a while, a man named Phillips. He told me Henry loved shooting. There’s many a gentleman does it for the sport, for the challenge, but Phillips said there was a lust in his master’s eyes, when he was at the pheasants, that was quite unnatural. The man liked riding too—I can just picture him, always at the front, yelling at the top of his voice, his yellow hair flying. Apparently, he didn’t give a damn about the horses—never spared them the crop if they weren’t fast enough.”
“I don’t know much about that sort of thing. I only ride for the exercise, and the pleasure of it, or to get from one place to another. The aristocracy, perhaps, take it more seriously.”
Finchdean’s skinny hand crashed down on the arm of his chair. “It’s more than that, I tell you. He’s a bad lot. That’s one of the reasons I went in search of Bella myself when I heard the Sutcliffes had died, to try and get to her before he did. Of course, I didn’t know that he’d bother, being so selfish and everything, but I’d have felt happier in myself to keep her away from him. And now he’s got her. You’re her best hope, and you’re just sitting here drinking tea with me like there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I can’t just drop everything and go—it’s not that easy. There’s the factory to think of, and Hattie and Georgie.”
“Hattie?”
“My sister. She was becoming quite friendly with Bella.”
“And Georgie?”
Jack flapped a hand. “It’s a long story. But it wouldn’t be fair of me to interfere in Bella’s new life. Or pick a fight with her brother, although I can’t say I like him at all. We’ve almost come to blows already.”
Lucy reappeared in the doorway. She looked at Finchdean. “Well, is he going? Have you persuaded him?”
“No. I can’t get him to see sense.”
With a sigh, Jack stood. He didn’t like being at odds with these people. But they didn’t understand how conflicted he was. His heart told him to hurtle straight off up to Derbyshire. His head told him he’d get short shrift when he got there, and Bella might be harmed because of it.
“I’d best be off now. Thank you for the tea.” He reached for his hat, and Lucy rushed out to fetch his coat. “I’ll be in touch. I hope you continue to improve.”
Finchdean shrugged his slender shoulders. “Don’t think me ungrateful. I know it would have been a different story if you hadn’t found me and paid for my treatment and my removal here. See how quickly your good work has borne fruit. Why—I think I might even go part of the way down the road with you.”
“Not without me.” Lucy helped Jack into his coat. “I have to keep walking too.”
Jack decided to walk his horse until his companions were weary and turned for home. Well, he’d done his duty by them—they wouldn’t need his intervention again. But he was all stirred up about Bella. If that heartless brother of hers lifted a hand against her, he’d have him to answer to.
Chapter 58
Over the past few weeks, Bella had learned more about the value of money and status. Not that she needed either for herself, but she realised she could put money to good use helping people like her grandfather, who needed repairs to his house, and the certainty of having enough coal for the winter.
Her mother preferred spending as much as she could on clothes and accessories for both her daughter and herself. As the weather had turned colder, they’d just been on another foray into Ashwell in search of warmer coats and scarves. Much as Bella liked all the luxuries of Linden Hall, she liked getting out of the place even better, and Mama was always happy to take her on shopping trips.
These trips were also a temporary distraction from the pain of missing Jack. But oh, how she missed him! He’d been kind to her, put himself in danger for her, and kissed her—as she’d never imagined a man might be able to kiss a woman, with such heart, such hunger. But he'd let her go—allegedly for her own sake—and had made no effort to write to her.
Or perhaps he had, and Henry had burnt the letters. She wouldn’t put it past him. Maybe Jack just needed time. Or something had happened in Warbury to distract him. She hoped it was something to do with machinery—she couldn’t bear it if there was another woman.
As Mama alighted from the coach, Bella resisted the urge to hurry after her and see if any new post had arrived. Thus it was that she was hanging back when the coachman drove the team around the side of the house towards the stables. Something unsettled the lead horse, so the man jumped down and led the team into the yard, then scowled at something out of Bella’s view. Curious, she followed in the coach’s wake.
As the head groom trotted up to help with the coach-horses, she saw that one of the stable lads was struggling with a limping beast, a great black hunter which was one of Henry’s favourite mounts. Henry was following, his face pale. He was growling at the youth, in almost as much of a lather as the lame creature he’d just been riding.
“Damn thing threw me up by Elijah’s Bridge. Channel’s as narrow as a pauper’s purse up there, but the bloody beast pulled at the last minute, and we both went crashing over. See the mud all over my riding breeches? I’ve only had them a week.”
The stable lad muttered something Bella couldn’t hear and bent to examine the horse’s leg, running his hands over it with the skill of someone born and bred to care for the animals.
“Never mind that, what about me?” Henry lifted his arms up and turned around, trying to see the damage done to his clothing.
“Shall I call for your valet, sir?” The stable boy looked terrified in the face of Henry’s anger, and didn’t wait for his master’s direction, but ran off towards the house.
From her position behind the carriage, Bella saw Henry’s face darken dangerously, but the skin around his lips was white—a warning of the potential storm to come. The coachman was taking an interest in the scene, as was the head groom, but neither man seemed prepared to approach the angry earl. Henry shot them both a killing glare, then stomped off into one of the outbuildings.
As soon as he’d gone, the head groom dashed forward to soothe the agitated and limping stallion. He produced an apple
from his pocket and offered it to the horse. But before the animal could even sniff at it, Henry burst into the yard again, a shotgun in his hands.
Bella screamed, “No!” and ran forwards, at the same time as the startled groom jumped out of the way. She heard the crack of the gun, saw it buck against her brother’s shoulder, and turned her head away. What she heard then was a groan from the animal, and the sickening sound of its body thumping onto the hard ground.
Wringing her hands, she ran at her brother. “Oh, Henry, what have you done, what have you done?”
“It’s the usual way, Miss,” the head groom called loudly as she went past him. “His lordship must have thought the animal had a fractured leg.”
She barely heard. His reasoning had no meaning, but the abrupt and cruel end to the gallant stallion’s life did, and in a moment, she was on her brother, flailing at him with her fists, blinded by her indignation and distress.
“Get off me, you idiot! What do you think you’re doing?” Henry was whirling around, trying to fend her off. Once he was over the surprise of her attack, his strength returned and she was imprisoned in his grip, being shaken.
She couldn’t remember afterwards what he said to her. She remembered him yelling at the men to get out of his sight, but one of them had stayed, regardless. She remembered dashing back to the house, her face stinging where Henry had hit her.
He must have thought better of creating a scene indoors, for she made it to her room without being followed. Once there, she locked the door on the inside, then grabbed a chamber pot and the poker, just in case he decided to break the door down.
But all was quiet, except the sound of her laboured breathing. Eventually, she replaced her makeshift weapons and collapsed onto the bed, all the fight gone out of her. She was glad now she hadn’t invited Jack to visit, that it had just been a ploy to manipulate her mother. Because she wouldn’t want Jack setting foot in Linden Hall now. Not unless he came armed with a rifle.
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