Rags-to-Riches Bride

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

  He shook himself. ‘Nothing at all. Are you ready?’

  They left the house together, Toby bounding along beside them, and soon caught up with the rest of the party. Once Toby had sniffed all round them and established they were friendly, they set off along a path through the wood, which led to a brook. The water, only a few inches deep, sparkled in the sunlight, dappled by overhanging willows. In places the bank had been eroded by the cattle who grazed the pasture and it was easy to reach the water’s edge.

  ‘Want to paddle,’ Dick said, pulling on his mother’s hand.

  ‘Not today,’ she told him. ‘We are going to see the horses and have a picnic. There is no time to do both.’

  He accepted her explanation and toddled along beside her as they turned along the towpath to a narrow wooden bridge. Toby ran ahead and explored the bank and the next minute had jumped into the water and was swimming strongly to the other side. He greeted them as they crossed the bridge by shaking himself so vigorously he showered the little boy with water, making him giggle.

  ‘He is a happy child,’ Diana said, as they walked along the towpath on the other side.

  ‘He has nothing to be unhappy about,’ Lucy said, picking him up to carry him. ‘Richard has provided us with a comfortable home in idyllic surroundings; he wants for nothing.’

  ‘That is Richard all over,’ Freddie said. ‘Always ready and willing to offer a helping hand. I owe him a lot. Without his generosity, I would be destitute.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Richard said. He could see by Diana’s expression his friends were reinforcing her poor opinion of him even as they praised him. ‘You work for your keep and one day you will be rich and famous and I shall have my reward.’

  ‘Freddie is right,’ Joe put in. ‘He took me in when I was at my lowest ebb and since then I have begun to paint again. We are trying to put together an exhibition of our work, though we have yet to find a venue. If that is a success and results in sales, we shall feel we have justified his faith in us. And perhaps we can repay him.’

  ‘He helped me, too,’ Diana admitted, ‘when my father had a seizure. He seemed to know exactly what to do. His brother, Mr Stephen, said he was good in a crisis.’

  ‘Of course, you will know Stephen,’ Lucy said. ‘Working in the business as you do.’

  ‘Yes. He showed me how to go on when I first went to work at Harecroft’s.’

  ‘I have not see him for some time,’ Lucy said. ‘He is so busy he does not come to Borstead Hall very often.’

  ‘He will be down this weekend for her ladyship’s party. Perhaps you will see him then.’

  ‘He will have to come to the dower house. I am not welcome at the Hall.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that. It is such a pity when parents and grandparents deny themselves the pleasure of the company of their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘In this case, great-great-grandson, unless I am mistaken.’

  ‘No, you are not mistaken,’ Lucy admitted. ‘But I am an actress and unmarried at that.’

  Diana looked at Richard to see how he received this admission, said with a hint of regret. How could Richard live so openly with her and not marry her? The caring and uncaring side of his nature seemed to be inexplicably woven together in his attitude towards Lucy. He was walking a little ahead with Dick astride his shoulders, the picture of a devoted and doting father. ‘Perhaps that will soon be remedied,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  There did not seem to be anything else to say on the subject that did not imply a criticism of Richard and they walked on in silence until they came to a meadow where haymaking was in full swing. When the grass was ready and the sun shone, the work had to be done, Sunday or not. Diana could see no signs of dissent as the men scythed the grass in great swathes and the women and children raked it out to dry. ‘It looks idyllic,’ she said. ‘I find it hard to believe these people are discontented.’

  ‘Oh, they are not discontented,’ Freddie said. ‘Grumbling adds a little spice to dull lives.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Joe said. ‘The time will come when Parliament will have to take notice. The labourer should be worthy of his hire. It is the labourer who creates the rich man’s wealth and it is only fair he should have a say in how he is governed.’

  ‘You will note from that, Miss Bywater, that Mr Harris is a Chartist,’ Richard put in.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Are you also Chartist, Mr Harecroft?’

  ‘I think perhaps I might be.’

  This led to a discussion about the problems of agriculture and what should be done to address the evils of poverty in general to which everyone contributed. Freddie said the corn laws ought to be repealed to bring the price of bread down, Joe maintained that would not be enough and nothing short of revolution would suffice. Richard argued against revolution but did say he thought universal suffrage would be a step in the right direction. Revolution would be unnecessary if every man had a say in how the country was run.

  ‘I agree with Mr Harecroft,’ Diana said. Now that the subject was one she was genuinely interested in, she could relax a little. ‘But before that can happen, the government must be woken up to what is happening here and now. While there are thousands out of work, their children are slaving away because they cost less in wages. It is a disgrace to any country that calls itself civilised.’

  In spite of the shelter of the brim of her hat, Richard noted the change, noted the slight blush that stained her cheeks and her earlier comment that she had seen what poverty could do. She would be a superb helpmate to anyone addressing that problem. He wondered idly if Stephen knew her views. ‘I concur wholeheartedly,’ he said.

  ‘But you would not subscribe to the notion that women should have the vote?’

  ‘No, I do not think I would go that far,’ he said.

  ‘Pity,’ she said. ‘Women work too, you know.’

  He laughed, making Lucy, who had been talking to Dick, look up at them. ‘What is so funny?’

  ‘Miss Bywater was reminding me that women work and ought to have a vote.’

  ‘So they do and so they should,’ Diana said. ‘The idea that women are the chattels of men is fast becoming outdated.’

  ‘But would you not like to be married?’ Lucy asked her.

  ‘Yes, but I would still want to be myself, not an echo of my husband.’

  ‘I think your husband might have something to say on the matter,’ Freddie said.

  ‘I do not see why,’ she countered.

  ‘It is the husband’s role to take the lead. It always has been.’

  ‘Oh, so you are going to quote that as justification for putting women down, are you?’ Diana enjoyed a good debate, especially if there were no emotion involved. Arguing with Mr Somers was enjoyable, so different from the tense exchanges she had with Richard. ‘You are saying that because it was always so is reason enough to maintain the status quo.’

  ‘But it is history that shapes our destiny,’ Richard said.

  Freddie laughed. ‘You mean what we are doing now will determine out future lives? That if we had not decided to come out for a picnic and did something else instead, our whole lives might be different?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘I fail to see how. Whether we walk or ride or take a picnic or eat luncheon at home cannot possibly make one iota of difference. We would still be struggling to make a name for ourselves as artists and you would still be second in line to your grandfather’s estate and Lucy would still be a doting mother. And do you think it would make any difference to you, Miss Bywater?’

  Diana knew exactly what Richard meant and it did make a difference. Everything she had done since taking that job at Harecroft’s had been life-changing. Without that Stephen would not have proposed, she would not have come to Borstead and she would not have met the rest of the Harecroft family, Richard Harecroft’s ménage in particular. ‘It remains to be seen, conside
ring we cannot see into the future,’ she said diplomatically.

  ‘An enigmatic answer if ever I heard one,’ Richard said. ‘But our children are our future and it is up to those of us who are in a position to do so, to ensure a future for them. It is why I intend to do my small bit and stand for Parliament.’

  ‘Are you, by Jove!’ Joe said. ‘Good luck to you, but you will have some formidable opposition.’

  ‘I know; whenever I apply for a candidature, I am turned down when my views become known. But I shall persevere.’

  ‘That is not the only obstacle,’ Diana said. ‘Is it not true that Members of Parliament are expected to be married?’

  He looked at her sharply, detecting more in the question than appeared on the surface. ‘I believe so. When the time comes, I might think about it.’

  Diana looked across at Lucy, but she was stooping beside Dick, pointing out a butterfly, telling him it was called a painted lady. ‘I think you are despicable,’ she murmured. ‘Stephen is twice the man you are.’ He did not answer and marched ahead of them, anger in every tense muscle.

  While they had been talking they had skirted the meadow where the men were working, crossed a lane and come on to the heath covered in purple heather, butter-yellow broom, and dotted here and there with dainty blue harebells. A cool breeze wafted in their faces as they made their way along a well-worn path and soon came to the wooden rails that delineated the gallops for the Harecroft horses. There was a knoll of higher ground and it was here, beside a stunted hawthorn, they settled for their picnic.

  Freddie had been right in saying Lucy had packed ample provisions. They sat down to chicken and ham and meat pies with several kinds of cheese and strawberries doused in thick cream, all to be washed down with lemonade. Diana had no appetite and only nibbled at the food, which almost choked her. When everyone had eaten their fill, the basket was repacked and the conversation dwindled to an occasional comment. Richard fetched out a ball and began tossing it to Dick. Diana leaned back against the trunk of the hawthorn and shut her eyes, but even with her eyes closed she could picture Richard playing with the child and her heart contracted with pain. It was all wrong. Everything was wrong.

  She was roused when a thundering reverberated through the ground beneath her and everyone stood up to watch a group of horses galloping towards them on the other side of the rails. Richard produced binoculars and studied them as they came nearer, then held the glasses out to Diana. She took them and put them to her eyes. The horses were magnificent animals, fine limbed, muscular, heads forward as they raced each other.

  ‘Let me see! Let me see!’ Dick cried, dancing at her feet and pulling on her skirt.

  She picked him up and put the binoculars to his eyes and tried to adjust them for him. His little body was soft and warm and smelled of soap. Diana hugged him to her and her eyes filled with tears. Hurriedly she handed him to Richard. ‘Here, you take him. I can’t hold him and adjust the glasses at the same time.’

  He lifted the boy from her arms, noticing the tears glistening on her lashes and began to wonder if he had been right to introduce her to Lucy and young Dick, but she had to know about them sooner or later. ‘Come on, young fellow-m’-lad,’ he said jovially, taking the binoculars from Diana. ‘You stand on the rails while I show you how to see the horses.’ He balanced the boy on the middle rail and held him firmly. But the horses had gone and only their haunches and the backsides of the riders were visible as they galloped away. The boy wailed in disappointment. ‘No need to cry,’ he said, dropping a kiss on the top of the child’s head. ‘There will be more and next time we shall be ready for them.’

  A second group of horses soon followed the first and this time Dick squealed in delight when he found he could see them through the binoculars. Freddie had a stopwatch with him and he clicked it as the leader went by. ‘By God, he’s fast,’ he said.

  ‘Which one were you timing?’ Diana asked, finding it easier to turn and talk to him than watch Richard with the child.

  ‘The white colt. When does he race, Richard?’

  ‘North Wind? On Friday, if the going is good. My grandfather has high hopes of him.’

  ‘Then I must go to the races and put a guinea or two on him.’

  ‘Don’t blame me if you lose your money. He has only raced once before and came nowhere.’

  ‘Then the odds will be good.’

  ‘Time to make for home,’ Lucy said. ‘Dick has had enough excitement for one day.’

  They returned the way they had come. At the edge of the park Richard, who was carrying a sleeping Dick, asked Diana if she could find her way from there.

  ‘Oh, yes, easily,’ she said. ‘Thank you for a pleasant afternoon.’

  She had spoken formally and he replied in a like vein. ‘I am glad to be of service. I shall see you at dinner.’

  Diana hurried back to the Hall and let herself into the house through the servants’ entrance. The kitchen staff were all busy preparing dinner, Catchpole was polishing glasses in the butler’s pantry and the two footmen were going backwards and forwards to the dining room, laden with cutlery. They ignored her as if she were invisible.

  Once in her room, she sat on a chair by the window and let herself slump. She was exhausted, not because of the walk, which had been no more than three miles, but the nervous strain of watching Richard with Lucy and their little son, of making polite conversation when all she could think of was that someone she had looked up to and admired had turned out to have feet of clay. He put his ambition to be a Member of Parliament before the happiness of the mother of his son. No wonder his father and brother had washed their hands of him.

  Yet he cared about the poor, she had seen more than one instance of that, and had given his friends a home for which they could not praise him highly enough, even Lucy, who had every reason to feel aggrieved. And he had been so good when her father had his seizure. She could not condemn him utterly. She heard the first dinner gong and rose wearily to change her clothes. She would have to face him again.

  The evening meal, although taken at the earlier hour of six o’clock, was a repeat of the previous evening. Diana listened to the conversation and spoke only when addressed. Only Richard realised she was not her usual bright self. He knew why; she had condemned him as a lecher and he, in his madness, had let her do it. He should not have introduced her to Lucy and Dick. He had done it in a fit of anger and that had not had the effect he hoped for. If she were the fortune hunter he had at first supposed her to be, it would not have mattered, she would have had to take her chances; most families had skeletons in their cupboards and, if they were kept discreetly hidden, they could be ignored. He had no business to interfere. But how could he not, when so many people’s happiness and reputations were at stake, not least his own?

  As soon as the meal was over he carried his great-grandmother back to her room. ‘Tell me the real reason you asked me to talk to Mr Bywater,’ he asked, when he had settled her in her favourite chair beside the window. ‘It wasn’t just because Stephen asked her to marry him, was it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I wish she had never been brought to Borstead. And I wish my father had not encouraged Stephen to propose to her. You know how he likes to please Papa. And you are equally to blame for inviting her down here.’

  ‘Stephen will come to his senses.’

  ‘He would never be so dishonourable as to retract a proposal.’

  ‘Diana has not yet accepted him.’

  ‘I am afraid she will.’

  ‘You had better do something about it, then.’

  ‘It is not up to me to tell her why she should not. I have hinted but that only annoys her. Is she a fortune hunter, worming her way into the family on the strength of the colour of her hair?’

  She smiled. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I did at first, but now I am not so sure. If she is, she is being very clever about it, but perhaps she is nothing of the sort and you are making mischief.’
r />   ‘Me?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Make mischief?’

  ‘Yes. Are you?’

  ‘I promise you I am not. But I do have another errand for you.’ She paused. ‘Have you ever heard of the Foundling Hospital?’

  ‘Of course. It is one of the organisations I support.’

  ‘Good, then you will have no trouble gaining access to their records.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Diana herself has given us a clue. You remember at dinner last night she said her father had been brought up in an orphanage?’

  ‘Yes, but there are dozens of orphanages. Why the Foundling Hospital?’

  ‘Because it is known for providing the navy with boys and Mr Bywater told you himself he had been in the navy, man and boy, did he not?’

  ‘And if I discover he is a foundling and has no roots, what then? Will you say his daughter is not a fit person to marry Stephen?’

  ‘It depends,’ she said guardedly. ‘I am not one to interfere…’

  He gave a cracked laugh. ‘And that’s a whisker. Who was it encouraged me to bring Miss Standish to Borstead? And that has had repercussions I could never have foreseen.’

  She looked at him and smiled knowingly. ‘It will come right in the end, you’ll see. Now, will you do as I ask?’

  ‘I am going to London on Tuesday. I have heard there might be a bye-election in one of the northern seats and I am going to offer myself as a candidate. I could visit the Foundling Hospital then, but I will not do it unless you tell me why it is so important.’

  ‘I will think about it. But not tonight. I am tired and need my sleep and explaining it all is going to take some time.’

  Mathilde came in to help her undress and with that he had to be satisfied.

  Chapter Seven

  Diana could not sleep; her head was whirling, her mind going over the afternoon’s events. She relived every moment. She had said some terrible things, made some dreadful accusations, which Richard had not refuted. If he had tried to explain, she might have been able to understand, wanted to understand. Now they were at daggers drawn and it was hurting more than she would ever have believed possible.