“Oh, but …” she was about to say she had no time, she had a father to look after, but she changed her mind. Why should she miss out on the opportunity of getting to know this gorgeous man, just to do his washing and ironing?
“But?” he prompted.
“Nothing. I hope we’ll meet again as well. Perhaps I can introduce you to the other villagers.”
He gave her that appealing smile again, showing even, gleaming white teeth. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips, causing a tingle to run through her. She watched him walk away, toward the gatehouse where he was living, then she turned to see Catherine just going into her cottage. She ran after her.
“Did you see him?” she said excitedly.
“See who?” said Catherine. “Has the Prince returned from the dead?”
Jessica stepped over the threshold without waiting for an invitation, grabbed Catherine’s hands and pulled her into the tiny sitting room. Mary Simmons was in the kitchen, tending to dinner for her husband when he returned from his work in the fields.
“Go on with you,” she called. “Talk to your friend. She’s likely got lots to say.”
It was not until then that Jessica realised her friend was wearing a flour covered apron, which she took off and folded up, laid it on her lap as she sat down on the sagging sofa; Jessica sat beside her.
“He’s the new estate manager for the Earl.” Jessica paused and gave her friend a secret smile. “He was gorgeous,” she went on, dropping her voice to a whisper. “He had shiny black hair and his face was so perfect, I could never describe it.”
“So you think you would like to be married?” said Catherine.
“You know I would. I’ve wasted enough of my precious years on the old grumps; now I’m almost too old for anyone to want me.”
Catherine laughed.
“Don’t be silly, Jessica. You’re only what? Twenty-two?” Jessica nodded. “That’s no age. But have you thought, this handsome man you’ve set your sights on might well be married?”
Jessica shook her head.
“He didn’t look married,” she said.
“What does married look like, exactly?” said Catherine.
“Well, he smiled at me and he kissed my hand. I know what sort of smile that was; it was not the sort of smile a married man would bestow on anyone but his wife.”
Catherine squeezed her hand and smiled warmly. Secretly, she hoped this man would turn out to be available and take a liking to Jessica, but her friend was very naïve if she thought men only smiled like that at their wives.
“Is he as handsome as the Earl?” said Mary, who had suddenly appeared, unheard.
Jessica flushed as she turned to her friend’s mother. She wished she had known she was there.
“I could never compare the two,” said Jessica.
“If you get to know him,” said Mary, “you might have a chance to meet the Earl on social terms and you could introduce him to Catherine.”
“Mother,” said Catherine angrily. “Can we stop this now? Please?”
“He could do a lot worse,” muttered Mary as she shuffled back into her kitchen.
Catherine sighed.
“If it’s not bad enough I’ve got flipping Susan Langley eyeing up Michael, I also have to put up with Mother insisting His Lordship might be interested in me.”
“Well, would you want him if he was?”
“No,” said Catherine with a laugh. “You know I love Michael. We will be married, no matter what the parents say.”
“I don’t understand why she thinks the estate manager would know the Earl socially,” said Jessica. “Surely, that only happens if he’s a relative.”
“That’s true,” said Catherine. “But because he’s on his own and hardly ever leaves the Castle, she thinks he might get desperate. I mean, most men in his position give parties or go to them, or they visit friends in London and places. Lord Harrisford rarely leaves the village.”
Jessica got to her feet, dropped her shawl from her shoulders and draped it over her arm. It was warm outside now.
“I had better go,” she said. “I’ll have to think about what to get for Father’s tea. Do you know what he suggested the other day? He said if we didn’t have money for meat, I should go out with the shotgun and shoot a rabbit.”
Catherine shook her head in disgust. She hated to see her friend so bogged down with such drudgery. She stood as well and walked her to the door, dropped her voice to a whisper.
“Don’t be too obvious,” she said. “Men don’t like a woman who is too obvious.”
“I’ll see you later,” said Jessica with a smile of agreement.
She knew Catherine was right; she should not make her interest in Mr Swinburne too apparent. It would be unseemly for her to appear to be flirting with this man; people in a small place like this loved to gossip and gossip could ruin a girl’s reputation.
She walked slowly up the street to the bottom of the hill. Outside Knight’s Castle she could see the new estate manager, standing outside the front door, talking animatedly to the Earl.
She smiled, sighed contentedly and turned back to her home.
Nobody saw the new estate manager for a week or two. It seemed that Jessica was the only one who actually knew what he looked like and she really wanted to keep that to herself.
***
Susan Langley was desperate for a man of her own. She was always making eyes at Michael, even though she knew he more or less belonged to Catherine. The whole village knew that, everyone except Catherine’s parents. They were still hankering after the Earl as a son-in-law.
Susan lived in Church Cottage, a dwelling larger than the tenant cottages in the High Street.
Really it was too big to be called a cottage at all. It stood alone, surrounded by about an acre of garden, and no one from the village had ever been inside. Mrs Langley was a widow, although nobody remembered her husband, and declared that she lived on independent means, but just what they were, nobody really knew.
She never left the house. The grounds were closed in by a six foot brick wall which nobody could see through and the rest of the village always wondered what she had to hide. Susan only ventured out to get her mother’s shopping from the village shops, of which there were only a few. That was the only time anyone ever saw her, but she had a special smile for Michael Kimpton.
Catherine always found it amusing that Susan so obviously hankered after her fiancé; she said she felt sorry for her, kept up there with just her anti-social mother for company. If she wanted to dream about Michael, Catherine certainly wasn’t going to be the one to stop her. It wasn’t as though he returned the sentiment.
Susan was overweight, though not heavy enough to really be called fat. She wore a corset laced so tight she could scarcely breathe, but instead of making her look slimmer, it had the effect of pushing out the parts it didn’t cover. Her hair was a light brown and she had hazel eyes, but her face was pretty with a pert nose and nicely formed mouth.
She might do well if she lost some weight, but she was impossibly shy. She had nothing to say for herself and even when people tried to talk to her, she only smiled or giggled. And Mrs Langley did not like Susan to be talking to anyone. If she saw her, she ordered her indoors and that was the end of that.
The villagers wondered what she had to hide, what she was afraid of and she was afraid; that was apparent. There was something she didn’t want people to know about and was scared Susan might let it slip, although she was so shy it was unlikely she ever would. Perhaps that’s why she had nothing much to say; she was afraid of letting her tongue run away with her, so she thought it was better to keep it still.
The weather got colder and Jessica had the added burden of having to bring in coal from the bunker outside and light the fire. She’d always had to light the copper boiler in the shed outside for the laundry, but that was no problem. She had always helped her mother with that, but she found the fire very difficult to light and her father was of
no help.
“Not my job,” he said, when she asked him for help. “Amelia used to manage it. Why can’t you? You don’t keep a dog and bark yourself.”
It wasn’t the first time Jessica had heard him use that particular expression, but that was when her mother was alive. So, Jessica was his new dog, was she? She bit her lip to stop the threatening tears, but they gathered in her throat just the same and were not so easily swallowed.
She watched her father as he settled down with the scissors and a bowl of hot water to tend to his aching feet. The sound of rigid toenails pinging around the floor made her stomach heave. He wouldn’t be the one to clear them up, that was for certain.
It was getting near Christmas, only a couple more months to go. Come spring it would have been a year since Jessica’s mother had died and she thought she would be free. Instead of that, she was no better off. Another year nearly gone and nothing had changed; she would likely still be here when she was sixty odd, still waiting on her father. He’d be old and infirm by then and make even more work for her.
Or they might be in the workhouse then, since this cottage wouldn’t be theirs once he could no longer work.
The road into the future was a grim one, one she had no wish to walk. This was her life now. She thought things would be easier without her mother to nurse, but it wasn’t, only different. All Jessica heard from Jack was that if Amelia could do it, so could she. But she hadn’t married into this drudgery, she was young and wanted a life of her own. In her father’s eyes, she could do nothing as well as Amelia; even her cooking was not as good.
It was early in October when Simon Swinburne came knocking at the door. Jessica had been washing up after breakfast and sweeping up the dried mud her father had left on the floor. He never bothered to take his boots off when he came in; why should he? He had women to clear up after him, first his wife, now his daughter. Jessica wondered what he would do if she decided to take to her bed.
The surge of resentment came suddenly and unexpectedly, taking Jessica by surprise. She had to get away, she simply had to.
Silently cursing whoever it was who was hammering at the door, she dried her hands and looked down at her skirt beneath the once white cotton apron. Her dress was streaked with stains from the coal she had piled onto the fire, her hair was falling out of its fastenings, her sleeves were rolled up and she wore a filthy apron.
Well, whoever it was couldn’t be important. Nobody of any importance ever knocked at their door. This was her thinking as she flung open the door, ready with a sharp tongue for any religious groups who might be on the other side.
And there he stood, smiling at her, that handsome man she had thought about since the summer.
“Mr Swinburne,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she spoke.
“You remembered my name,” he said. “I am flattered.”
She could think of nothing more to say. He could not have come specially to see her. And if he had, it was very inconsiderate to come without warning. She was well aware of the way she must look.
“Forgive me for interrupting you,” he said. “His Lordship asked me to visit his tenants and be sure they had no problems, that their homes were habitable for the winter. May I come in?”
Come in? She was alone; what would he think if she let him in, with no chaperone?
Simon was waiting patiently, an expectant look in his eyes. He looked very elegant in his top hat, his long jacket; he was obviously a well bred man. She made her decision; she could not afford to diminish herself in his eyes.
“I am alone, Sir,” Jessica replied. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I will ask my friend next door to come in.”
He bowed politely and stepped aside for her to come out and walk quickly to Catherine’s door. He stood quietly while she waited at the door, asked Catherine for her help.
“He wants to inspect the cottage,” she whispered. “I don’t want him to think ill of me.”
Once inside Jessica’s cottage, accompanied by Catherine, he went upstairs, making Jessica anxious about the state of her father’s bedroom. It was the one place she hadn’t bothered to clean since Amelia’s funeral. It was his mess; let him clean it up.
She heard Simon Swinburne crossing the landing and into her own room, which was clean and tidy enough, then he came downstairs and ran his eyes over the windows, the doors, the floors.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Catherine asked him.
Jessica seemed to be struck dumb and her friend knew she wanted him to stay a bit longer.
“That would be lovely,” he replied. “Thank you.” He paused, drew a deep breath. “I had a good look at the thatch before I knocked,” he said. “It all seems in good order, but please do say if you have any leakages. That goes for all the cottages,” he added, turning to Catherine.
“We get rats nesting in there,” said Jessica. “I don’t suppose much can be done about them.”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ll look into it.”
He sat at the table to drink his tea, then turned to Jessica with that appealing smile.
“You live here alone, with your father?” he said.
“Yes. Just me and Dad.”
His eyes wandered about the cottage, finally falling on the brightly burning fire in the hearth.
“You do a wonderful job of keeping things nice, I must say.”
“Thank you,” said Jessica.
“Oh, well,” said Catherine. “If you’re not going to ask, I am.” She turned to Simon. “Tell us, please, does the Earl really live all alone in that enormous house? How many rooms does it have? How many servants? Rumour is it’s haunted.”
Simon threw up his hands in a defensive stance and laughed.
“Please,” he said. “One question at a time. There are about fifty rooms, most of them unused. He has no live-in servants. He was going to employ a housekeeper, and advertised I believe, but he changed his mind.”
“Your mother’ll be disappointed about that,” whispered Jessica to her friend.
Simon raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Take no notice,” said Catherine. “My mother has some idiotic idea that His Lordship needs a wife and that I might apply for the position. Housekeeper was going to be the first step.”
Simon laughed.
“He is indeed in need of a wife,” he said. “But he doesn’t seem eager to explore the possibility. I have only been inside Knight’s Castle once, when I came for the initial interview. Now I stay in my little house and His Lordship comes to see me once a week. If there is anything urgent in the meantime, I leave him a note.”
“How strange,” said Jessica. “What about the ghost? People have seen a woman dressed in the clothes of a royalist lady from the civil war. And they say she plays the harpsichord.”
“Now that is a possibility. I have heard music, possibly a harpsichord, and when I was there, I heard footsteps across the upstairs floor. But I’ve seen nothing.”
“I would not want to stay in a house with a ghost,” said Catherine. “So I would have to refuse the Earl’s proposal, should he be inclined to make one.”
Both women giggled at the joke, Simon smiled indulgently.
“Tell me, Miss Milligan,” he said. “Do you have an admirer, a beau?”
Jessica felt her face growing hotter and knew her colour had darkened.
“I have no time for romance, Sir,” she finally muttered.
“Then, please, do me the honour of having tea with me on Sunday afternoon. There is a nice little tea shop in Newmarket I tried last week. It has the most delicious cakes. Would that be in order? Would you need to ask your father?”
“No,” she replied. “I am of age and we would be in a public place. Thank you for asking me.”
“I will call for you on Sunday, then,” he said. “His Lordship was kind enough to offer me the use of one of his carriages.”
“No,” said Jessica quickly. “I will meet you at the end of the street, please
. At the crossroads.”
He stood up, bowed to her and to Catherine, then left them alone. Jessica sank down into a convenient armchair and looked up at her friend.
“What on earth made him ask me out?” she said.
“Why should he not? You’re a pretty girl.”
“But look at the state of me,” Jessica said, looking down at her attire. “I hardly look the part to appeal to a handsome young man. A well dressed one at that.”
“Perhaps he has the sense to see past the grime,” said Catherine. “I think it’s lovely. Tell me how you get on, but remember, Jessica, you do not know this man. Be sure not to be alone with him.”
She nodded and watched her friend walk to the front door.
“Oh, no!” she cried, stopping Catherine as she reached the threshold. “I’ve nothing to wear. Father made me dye all my good dresses black when Mother died. I’ve only got some really old ones of hers that I altered. I look about ninety in them.”
Catherine smiled.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Come round later and see what I’ve got you can borrow. Michael gave me some money for the dressmaker a few months ago, but don’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you,” said Jessica. “That’s so good of you.”
She wondered where Michael had got money from, but didn’t ask. He was reformed, he didn’t steal any more and he probably got it from his father.
“Nonsense,” replied Catherine as she stepped outside. Jessica didn’t get up to see her out; her legs didn’t seem to be working.
***
Jessica cleared up after Sunday dinner, then went upstairs and changed into one of Catherine’s new dresses. She curled her hair up on top of her head and pinched her cheeks to make them a little redder.
She had a new coat that she had bought last winter, but had not had a chance to wear. It was red wool and flared out at the waist; the collar and edging were dark grey velvet. She had saved for this coat for months and was keen to wear it at last along with her grey hat that matched quite nicely.
Her mother had a pair of leather gloves she had never worn and Jessica pulled them on as she made her way downstairs. Jack didn’t glance up from his newspaper, only spoke without taking his eyes off the print. It took him ages to read even one paragraph; he had only recently learned to read a little and was trying to perfect the skill, but it was a lot of brain work for him.
Knight's Acre: Till Death Do Us Part Page 3
