by Mary Nichols
‘I am sure you know best. I know nothing about hiring staff. My mother saw to that when she was alive and afterwards we did not need servants.’ She did not add that they could not afford them.
‘I think we had better see how many tables and chairs we can rustle up ourselves before hiring any extra,’ Alicia went on. ‘The attics are full of old furniture. Shall we go and explore?’
They went up the stairs, along a corridor and then up another flight of stairs, this time with hard-wearing jute carpet. There were rows of doors evenly spaced along a corridor. ‘The indoor servants’ sleeping quarters,’ Alicia explained, leading the way up another flight, this time with no carpet at all and their footsteps echoed. This led to rooms under the pitched roof, unoccupied except for discarded items which no one had a use for but that none could bear to throw away. There were old beds, tables, chairs, stools, mirrors, trunks full of antiquated clothes, dusty books, pictures stacked against the walls, astronomical instruments, the accoutrements from a soldier’s uniform. A sword hung in its scabbard from one rafter decorated with a finely woven spider’s web.
‘I have brought a piece of chalk,’ Alicia said. ‘We will put a cross on everything we think will be useful and then send some of the men up to bring it all down and clean it up. We do not want the heavy stuff. Ah,’ she added, darting forward. ‘Card tables. We shall need those.’ And she marked them with a cross.
Diana followed, too intrigued by her surroundings to be of much help. Here was the story of a family’s life through goodness knew how many years. This was part of the history of the Harecrofts. There was one picture that intrigued her. It showed a young woman sitting on a garden seat under an oak tree, surrounded by her children, two boys and a girl. A man, presumably her husband and the father of the children, stood behind her with a bejewelled hand lightly on the back of her chair. And though the picture was dirty, she could see they were all dressed in the colourful fashion of the previous century. All, except the man who was dark, had hair the colour of ripe corn with just a hint of a red, as if the dying sun had streaked it.
The elder boy, who reminded Diana of Richard, had the bluest eyes, bright and knowing. He was about sixteen, she guessed and stood beside his mama in an almost arrogant pose, as if to proclaim himself the heir. The next had eyes of a paler blue and was perhaps two years younger. He looked as though he was there on sufferance and longed to be away playing. The little girl was much younger, only just big enough to stand, which she did, clinging on to her mama’s skirts.
‘That’s me,’ Alicia said when she noticed Diana’s interest.
‘Is it? Then that must be the dowager Lady Harecroft and your papa.’
‘Yes.’ She pointed to the older boy. ‘That’s William, the present Lord Harecroft, and the other is my brother James. They were both much older than me. There were other children between us, but either my mother miscarried or the babies died in infancy. I am only a few years older than my nephew, John.’
‘I did not realise you had another brother.’
‘He was a soldier and was killed in the American Wars. I hardly remember him. My mother had the picture brought up here after that. She could not bear to look at it.’
‘How sad.’
‘Yes. We do not talk of him. Now, how many chairs have you counted?’
Diana had not counted any at all and set to work remedying the omission. Then they went back downstairs and Alicia gave instructions to the servants. That done they had luncheon and after that Lady Harecroft and Alicia went to take their afternoon nap. Diana was left to do whatever she wanted. Now was the time to put her plans into action. The first thing was to see her father.
Making her way along the woodland path, mentally rehearsing the words she would use, she came upon Dick, curled up at the foot of a tree fast asleep. There was no sign of an adult. Gently she woke him. ‘Dick, what are you doing here without your mama?’
He rubbed his fists into his eyes and looked about him. ‘Mama.’
‘I expect she is at home.’ She picked him up. ‘She will be looking for you. Let us go and find her, shall we?’
Trustingly he nestled his head into her shoulder and sucked his thumb. His little body was plump and warm against her breast and though he was heavy, the burden of his weight was nothing to the burden she carried in her heart. She gulped to stop herself crying and murmured reassuring words as she hurried towards the dower house.
At the gate she was met by a distraught Lucy. ‘Thank God,’ she said, relieving Diana of the lighter of her burdens. ‘We have been searching everywhere for him. Where did you find him?’
‘Fast asleep under a tree in the wood.’
‘I do not know how he got out, I always keep the gate shut.’
‘Perhaps one of the others left it open.’
‘Perhaps. Richard left very early but I know he would not leave it open. Freddie went off to the chapel afterwards. It might have been him. He does not understand about small boys and how adventurous they can be. Thank you for bringing him home.’
‘It is a good thing I was passing, otherwise he might have woken and found himself alone. It would have been frightening for the poor little fellow.’
‘Yes. I was talking to him about his papa and saying he would soon come back and we should see him again and I suppose he thought he would go and look out for him.’ She paused. ‘Will you come in for a moment?’
‘No, thank you. I must be on my way.’
‘Thank you again.’
Diana left Lucy, shutting the gate firmly. She dare not look back lest she choke. The memory of the woman with the little boy’s arms clinging tightly about her neck was something that would live with her for ever. She was all the more determined to leave.
Her father was in a difficult mood and telling him that she was turning her back on the Harecroft family and returning to London was not easy. He did not seem to understand. ‘Papa, I cannot marry Stephen,’ she reiterated, sitting in the garden with him, while Toby sat at their feet. She would have to leave the dog with the stable hands at the Hall until she was settled. ‘And it is not seemly that I should stay under the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’
‘I am going to turn him down. They will all say I have taken advantage of their generosity when I had no intention of accepting him.’
‘Why must you turn him down?’
‘I do not love him. I respect him and admire him, but I am not in love with him.’
‘Bah! Sentimental rubbish.’
‘Papa, how can you say that? You have told me over and over again how much you loved Mama and how much she loved you. Am I not to be allowed the same happiness?’
‘You will find it.’
‘I do not think so, not at Borstead Hall, not with Mr Stephen Harecroft and his overbearing family.’
‘But they are a family.’
‘Yes, but a disjointed one. And that means nothing if I cannot be happy with Stephen.’
‘How do you know you cannot?’
‘I just do. Papa, please allow me to know my own mind on this. I will find work and a home and we shall be like we were before.’
‘I do not want be like we were before. I do not want to go back to poky rooms and evil-tongued landladies and bad food…’
‘Neither do I. I will find something better.’
‘Better to stay here. If you cannot bring yourself to marry Stephen, then marry Richard. I like him and he will be Lord Harecroft himself one day and inherit everything.’
‘Papa, it is not a question of accepting one or the other,’ she said, fighting back tears. ‘Mr Richard Harecroft has not asked me to marry him. He lives with his mistress and little son. Do you think I would even consider coming between them, even if he did propose? And no wife worth her salt would turn a blind eye to what he makes no attempt to hide.’ She stood up, tired of arguing. ‘I am going to London to search for work and rooms.’
‘And what will happen to me? I will be
turned out if you upset the Harecrofts.’
‘I have saved a little of my wages and can keep you here for a week or two if that happens, but I do not think they are so vindictive. I shall explain everything to Lady Harecroft.’
He sighed heavily. ‘I need a drink.’
It was almost moral blackmail, implying he would only behave if she gave in. It took all her resolve not to do so. She might have capitulated if she had not reminded herself of Lucy and Dick and the hopelessness of her situation. ‘I am afraid that will not make me change my mind,’ she said, knowing that the matron would not give in to him and he could not go and find liquor for himself. ‘I will write as soon as I find somewhere to stay and let you know when you can join me.’ And before he could say another word, she put a hand on his arm, bent to kiss his cheek and left before he could start arguing again.
Chapter Eight
Back in her room, Diana sat on the bed and wondered how to tell the dowager and Miss Harecroft of her decision. No doubt they would give her similar arguments to her father’s and probably find their own means of blackmail. She could not bear it. She sat at an escritoire that stood close to the light from the window and pulled out pen and paper. Writing her resignation would be more formal, more a sign that she meant it, than trying to tell her ladyship to her face and being quizzed on the reason for her abrupt departure. She could not tell her the real reason and the old lady was astute enough to know when she was being fobbed off.
The trouble was the words would not come. They were blocked by images of Richard kissing the top of Dick’s head; Dick snuggling into the arms of his mother; Richard kissing her in the gloom of the stable and the realisation that he was unscrupulous when it came to women. Was Lucy content with her situation, or only pretending? She must love Richard very much to tolerate it. But so did she! The paper in front of her was blotched with tears. She screwed it up, threw it down and began on another. ‘Dear Lady Harecroft…’ She got no further before a paroxysm of weeping overcame her. And that was how Alicia found her.
Diana scrubbed at her face, but her first startled look as a light knock was followed by Alicia, calling, ‘May I come in?’ followed by her entrance, gave her away.
‘Oh, my dear, whatever is wrong?’ Alicia asked, hurrying forward to put her arm about Diana’s shoulders. ‘Are you not happy here? Has someone been unkind to you?’
‘No one has been unkind,’ she murmured, sniffing back the tears. ‘You have all been very kind. That is the trouble.’
‘I do not understand you.’
‘If you had not been so good to me, asking me down here when you really did not need any help, paying for my father’s convalescence, treating me as one of the family…’ She gulped, determined to go on. ‘I cannot go on.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘I came on the understanding that I would consider marrying Mr Stephen.’ She was feeling stronger now and her words were clearer. ‘I cannot marry him.’
‘As I recall, you did not promise you would.’
‘He thinks I will and so does your mother. I do not know why I was invited in the first place; I have nothing to offer Stephen. I am sure your mother has mistaken me for someone else, someone worthy of Stephen. Mr Rich—’ She gulped over the name. ‘Mr Richard said he was sure we had met before and I am sure we have not. I have been mistaken for someone else and should never have come. It is all a mistake.’
Alicia looked hard at her, wondering what was behind this sudden deluge of tears and doubts. ‘Stephen will be disappointed if you turn him down,’ she said evenly. ‘But he will get over it. And whether you accept or reject him, I am quite sure my mother will not let you go.’
‘Who does she think I am?’
‘Why, Miss Diana Bywater, who else? Now, dry your eyes and cheer up. Mama will be very upset to see you have been crying.’
‘I cannot face her. It is cowardly, I know, but I must leave. I am sorry I have done so little towards the party, but I do not think you truly need me.’
‘Yes, we do.’ Alicia smiled suddenly—there was more to this than Diana was prepared to tell her and she had a fair idea of what it was. ‘I have a plan.’
‘To make me stay? You will not succeed.’
‘I cannot make you stay against your will, but I think perhaps you need to get away for a day or two, then you might see things more clearly….’
‘Everything is very clear to me.’
‘Then humour me. I have ordered a birthday present for my mother from a shop in Staines that needs collecting. You could fetch it for me. It is only a small thing, not heavy at all. If my mother asks where you have gone, I shall tell her you are on an errand to do with her party. If you still want to leave after that, then I will try to make it right with her.’ She paused, putting her hand on Diana’s arm. ‘What do you say? It will save me a journey.’
‘I…I don’t know…’
‘Do it to please me. I have friends in Staines, a Mr and Mrs Proudfoot who will put you up. They are coming to my mother’s party so you could return with them, unless you choose to come back earlier. I will give you a letter to take to them.’
Diana found it impossible to refuse. Miss Harecroft had been kind to her and very understanding and what difference would it make in the long run? ‘Very well.’
‘Good. Now Richard has taken my mother’s carriage and I think my sister-in-law is using the family coach. There is a gig. I could ask Soames…’
‘Please do not go to the trouble. There must be a stage.’
‘Yes, there is. Apart from the mail which goes at a prodigiously early hour to get to the capital by the start of the day’s business, there are two local stages every day from Ascot, one in the morning at quarter past ten and the other at a quarter to three in the afternoon. It is too late to catch that today, but I could ask Soames to take you to Ascot in the gig tomorrow morning in time to catch the morning one. Will that do?’
She had not planned to stay a single night longer, but as Richard had gone to London and would not be back before the end of the week, she would not be tormented by his presence. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Good. Now dry your eyes and have a rest before it is time to change for dinner. We will say nothing about this little jaunt to anyone tonight. Agreed?’
Diana smiled wanly. ‘Yes, and thank you for your understanding.’
After Miss Harecroft had left, Diana sank on to the bed and stared at the ceiling. The cornice was finely carved with cherubs and angels, every one of whom seemed to have the look of Master Dick. Hurriedly she scrambled off the bed, washed and changed her dress and went down for dinner, wondering whose task it was to carry the dowager down when Richard was absent. She did not learn the answer to that as her ladyship decided to have her supper in her room. Diana dined with Lord and Lady Harecroft and Miss Harecroft. It was a quiet meal without dissension. Now and again, Alicia looked at Diana and smiled reassuringly.
Next morning, with a letter addressed to Mrs and Mrs Proudfoot and a few guineas in her purse, she climbed into the gig beside Soames and left Borstead. She did not intend to return.
Richard watched the countryside rushing past the carriage window, impatient to be home again. They were building a railway along part of the way and he supposed that before long it would go the whole way from London to the West Country. He fell to wondering how much faster than a carriage it would be. Could a galloping horse beat an engine? For a short distance, he surmised, it might, but over a longer distance, flesh, bone and muscle would be outstripped by iron and steam.
His trip to the capital had been partially successful. He had shown some of what he had written to several publishers, but they were reluctant to handle it. ‘Too inflammatory,’ they said. It was by chance he had met Henry Hunt, known by the populace as Orator Hunt, and had told him of his dilemma. Hunt had told him of an obscure publisher who might tackle it. He had business premises in Southwark, near where Diana had lived.
Going back there had brought
her to mind most forcefully. His head was filled with images of her: caring for her father and trying to hide his shame; angry at him for going to her father behind her back, a move he bitterly regretted; dressed for the ball at Almack’s, breathtakingly beautiful; the feel of her in his arms, especially the feel of her in his arms; the pressure of her hands cradling his face as he kissed her. He should never have done that. But it had shown him another side of her character. Did a seemingly virtuous young lady dally with someone else when she was supposed to be considering a proposal from his brother? He had thought about telling Stephen, but decided against it. It would have sounded like crowing over him and would certainly not improve their fragile relationship. And it could lead to heaven knew how many more complications.
Life was complicated enough what with Great-Grandmama’s determination to get at the truth. Truth once carefully buried was hard to come by, but he did have some news for her. James Bywater had spent all his early years at the Foundling Hospital, taken there by his mother when he was less than a month old. ‘She said she was a widow,’ the principal had told him after consulting their meticulous records. ‘She said she would return for him when her late husband’s affairs had been sorted out, but she never came back. It is not unusual—bastard children are often abandoned here. We make no difference between them and those genuinely orphaned.’
‘You do not think she was telling the truth about being a widow?’
The man had smiled. ‘I doubt it. I never met her, of course, it was many years ago, but the fact that she did not return seems to confirm it.’
‘What about her son?’
‘He grew up here, was diligent at his studies and we were able to arrange for him to go into the navy when he reached his thirteenth birthday. Our records go no further.’
He thanked the man and left, wondering what his great-grandmother would make of that. Was it what she had been expecting? How much did Diana know? Would it make any difference to Stephen? If Stephen withdrew his proposal on the grounds of her father’s bastardy, it would be a terrible blow to her and hypercritical of him. It would be better if she decided not to accept Stephen and then none of it need come to light. He hoped most profoundly that his great-grandmother was not going to make an announcement at her party. He would have to dissuade her from doing any such thing. It was the thought uppermost in his mind as his great-grandmother’s comfortable carriage carried him to Borstead. He wanted to see Diana again, to satisfy himself that she was everything he remembered about her, warm and compassionate, beautiful and proud. He did not want that pride dinted by anything he had discovered.
