by Mary Nichols
‘In that case, I will speak to her ladyship about it,’ Diana said. ‘Have you seen my father anywhere about the village? Would you know him if you saw him?’
‘No, miss, I don’t reckon I would.’
‘He’s been convalescing at the nursing home and came out for a walk, but he has been gone rather a long time…’
‘What does he look like?’
‘Do he hev only one arm?’ Dawkins, curiosity aroused, had joined them.
‘Yes, have you seen him?’
‘He was in here earlier on, treating everyone he was. Said he’d had a win on the horses…’
‘Do you know where he went when he left?’
‘No. He didn’t say.’
Diana thanked them and left. If Papa was drunk, his shame would be all round the village in no time. Why had he lapsed? Thanks to Richard he had had only one glass of champagne, but that must have been enough to set him off again. And she had had such high hopes that he was cured. It would make it all the more difficult for her to find a new job and suitable lodgings. ‘Oh, Papa,’ she murmured, ‘why do you do this to me?’
Her next call was at the Travellers Rest. This was little more than a hedge tavern and was tucked into a space between the blacksmith’s forge and a narrow lane leading to a small holding. Its doorway was so low that she had to duck her head to enter. There was only one bar and it was full of labourers who looked round in surprise to see her invading what they considered their preserve. In the middle of them, surrounded by empty glasses, sat her father. Her heart sank.
‘Papa,’ she said, ‘I have been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing in here?’
‘What’s the matter with here?’ someone demanded. ‘Not good enough for him, is that it?’
She ignored the man and squatted down beside her father’s chair. ‘Papa, come away, please.’
‘All in good time, my dear, all in good time. I’m celebrating with my friends.’
‘They are not your friends, they are only after free drink.’
‘Hey, miss, can’t hev that,’ said another man. ‘If the gen’ leman choose to treat us with his winnings, we in’t about to turn him down, don’ mean we’re spongers.’
‘You do not understand,’ she said. ‘My father has been ill. He is not supposed to drink.’
‘A little drink never did anybody any harm,’ the publican put in. ‘Where’d I be if a man couldn’t have a glass of ale when he wanted one?’
‘I did not say that…’
‘Petticoat government, who wants it?’ another said. ‘Jimmy, my friend, are you going to let a slip of a chit tell you what to do?’
‘Papa, please,’ she beseeched him. ‘Don’t listen to them.’
He half-rose as if to accompany her, but then sat down heavily again. She realised he was in a worse state than she feared and would have trouble walking back to the nursing home, especially as he had not fully recovered from his seizure. And what would Matron say when she saw him? She looked around for someone who might help her, but they were all looking aggressive.
‘Get along home, gal, and wait for ’im to come back in his own good time,’ said the first man. ‘This in’t no place for interferin’ women.’
She left them, intending to wait outside, but the publican came to the door and waved her away. ‘You standing there in’t good for trade,’ he said.
She walked back through the village, knowing there was only one person who could help her. She hoped he was still at the old chapel; she did not want to go to the dower house for him.
‘Mr Hatley cannot fail to be impressed,’ Richard told Freddie, as they worked together cataloguing the paintings.
‘I could not have done it without your help. One day I will repay you.’
‘Your recognition will be payment enough.’
They turned in unison as Diana almost burst through the door. She looked distraught and Richard realised at once that something was very wrong. She was breathless, her face was drawn and her lovely eyes troubled. He assumed Stephen’s revelation had shocked her. Nevertheless he was wary. ‘Diana, can I help you?’
‘May I speak to you?’ she asked, then added, with an apologetic look at Freddie, ‘Privately.’
‘Of course.’ He took her arm and guided her outside. ‘What has happened? Where is Stephen?’
‘Stephen?’ she queried, puzzled. That young man had been furthest from her thoughts. ‘I have no idea. I assume he has gone back to the Hall. I need your help.’
‘Anything,’ he said, wondering what she and his brother had said to each other. ‘You have only to ask.’
‘Papa is in the Traveller’s Rest and I cannot make him come out and they are making fun of him, taking advantage of his condition.’
‘Good Lord! You never went in there, did you?’
‘I had to. How else was I to extricate him? As it was they were most discourteous to me. I am afraid he made no effort to correct them. Please come, he might listen to you.’
‘Of course.’ He went back to the door of the chapel and called, ‘I’m going now, Freddie. I will see you back at the dower house.’
‘I am afraid he is already past being able to walk properly,’ she said as they set off for the village. ‘Oh, how I wish Mr Somers had not given him that champagne.’
‘Freddie was not to know.’
‘No. Will it always be like that, do you suppose, people offering him drink because they do not know what ails him? I feel like hanging a card round his neck: “Please do not offer me alcohol.”’
‘You could not possibly do that.’
‘No, of course not. But he has been so good and now he is as bad as ever, worse because he has not had a drink for so long. I cannot lock him up, can I, or watch him every minute of the day?’
‘No. You must have help. I am sure something can be arranged.’
‘I don’t want to lay my troubles at anyone else’s feet. I would not have asked you if I could have managed him myself.’
‘My dear girl, ask me as often as you wish. I would be sad if I thought you could not come to me with your troubles.’
‘You are very kind.’
‘Not at all.’ Kind was not what he wanted her to call him, nor gratitude what he wanted from her, but for the moment, he would accept that. Until he had discovered what had happened between her and Stephen, he could not ask for more.
‘I dare not think what Matron will say when she sees him,’ she said. ‘She was disapproving enough this afternoon and he had only had one glass of champagne then.’
‘We will have to sober him up first.’ He stopped to consider. ‘We will take him back to the chapel. Freddie will have gone. You can stay there with him while I go to the house and fetch hot coffee. I believe that has a sobering effect. And then we will take him for a walk in the fresh air.’
‘He can hardly put one foot in front of the other,’ she said in dismay. ‘If we are seen…’
‘Then I have a better idea. You go on. I will harness up the trap and catch up with you. If you arrive before I do, do not go back into that tavern, wait outside.’ He sprinted away towards the Hall. Slowly she walked on. Why was her father like he was? It must be her fault, something she had done or not done. She only wished she knew what it was, then she might be able to put it right.
As she approached the tavern, she could hear tuneless singing and a great deal of uproarious laughter. Already almost running, she quickened her pace, but turned when she heard the sound of hooves. Richard was driving the trap towards her and it was swaying from side to side as he made the poor pony gallop. He drew up beside her and jumped down.
‘Steady, sweetheart, don’t go rushing in.’ He put his hand on her arm to detain her. ‘Leave it to me.’
Sweetheart he had called her. Even in the midst of her distress, her heart had leaped at the sound, but quickly settled again. It meant nothing, could mean nothing. She stopped, eyes full of tears. ‘They are making sport of him, Richard. How can he
have so little self-respect that he allows it?’
It was the first time she had slipped up and called him by his given name. It pleased him, but he did not comment. ‘You stay with the trap. I will fetch him out.’
He handed her the reins, then made for the inn, ducking his head under the lintel before disappearing. The jollity in the inn was suddenly silenced. A minute or two later, he re-emerged with his arm about the shoulders of her father, holding him upright.
‘Up into the trap with you,’ he said, pushing James up from behind. ‘We are going to take you for a little ride.’
He tumbled into one of the seats, Diana climbed in beside him and Richard, reins in hand, took the opposite seat.
‘Where we goin’?’ James asked thickly, as the little pony carried them away.
‘I am going to show you something that might interest you,’ Richard said.
A few minutes later they drew up at the chapel. There was no one about. Richard unlocked the door, then helped James inside and sat him in the wide stone of the window embrasure. ‘Mr Somers and Mr Harris use this old chapel for a workroom,’ he told him. ‘They are getting ready for an exhibition. I would value your opinion.’ He fetched one or two of Joe’s canvases. ‘You show them to him, Diana, I am going up to the house to fetch coffee.’
‘I’d rather have a c…cognac,’ James said, with a hiccough.
Richard smiled. ‘I am sure you would, but I think coffee, don’t you? We can’t have you ill on the day of her ladyship’s party, can we? Great-Grandmother especially wants you to be there.’ He turned to Diana. ‘I will not be long.’
Diana showed him the paintings, trying to keep him from thinking about another drink. ‘Gruesome,’ he said.
‘They are pictures of true scenes.’
‘Don’t alter the fact they turn my sh…shtomach.’
‘I believe that is what they are meant to do.’
His attention was drawn to the canvas in the centre of the room and he got up and wobbled over to it. Diana was terrified he would knock against it and damage it and ran to take his arm. He shrugged her off and pulled the cloth off it. ‘Now thash more the thing. Tha’s the little boy, the one we took to the races. I forget his name.’
‘Dick,’ she said. ‘I believe he is named for Mr Richard.’
He turned towards her suddenly. ‘That why you’re not going to marry the young fellow?’
‘Because of Dick? No, of course not. What has he to do with it?’
‘Quite a bit, I sh…should have thought. What else is there?’ He began pulling other covers off.
‘Oh, Papa, do come and sit down again. If you break anything…’
He ambled towards her and sat down again. ‘It happens, you know, girl. Men are indish…creet, don’t mean they won’t make perfectly good hush…bands.’
Diana went about replacing the covers, unsettled by what he had said. ‘Papa, I have already told Mr Stephen I will not marry him and that is the end of the matter.’
Before he could answer her, Richard returned, carrying a steaming jug and some cups. He lost no time in pouring a cup of coffee for James. ‘Drink that, it will make you feel better.’
Diana expected an argument; Papa did not like being told what to do, which was hardly surprising when for years he had been issuing orders to his crew. And even at home, his word had been law. But his disability and his drunkenness had made him almost childlike and Richard’s was now the voice of authority. He gulped down the hot liquid, only to be faced with another full cup. ‘Go on, drink it,’ the younger man said when he hesitated.
After he had downed three cups, Richard hoisted him to his feet. ‘Now for a walk.’
‘Oh, Richard, not in the grounds, please,’ Diana pleaded. ‘We will be seen.’
‘Very well, we will go up on to the heath.’
He guided James out and helped him into the trap and they set off again. It was growing dark by now, but the pony was sure-footed and they were soon climbing the lane that led to Borstead Heath, where they stopped. The pony was tethered, James was helped out and all three set off to walk across the grass. ‘It used to be a great spot for highwaymen,’ Richard said, putting his hand under James’s only elbow to steady him. ‘No carriage dared stop. Now all we see are a few beggars and people passing by on horseback or in carriages.’
Diana was grateful for his down-to-earth manner and for a few minutes they spoke of horses and the Harecroft stables, while supporting James between them and almost forcing him to walk. After a little while, he seemed steadier and they turned to retrace their steps.
‘I told her,’ James said, when they were nearly back to the trap. ‘I told her a man’s early indiscretions should not be held against him when it comes to matrimony.’
‘That depends on the indiscretion and its consequences,’ Richard said, after some consideration during which Diana began to think he did not mean to reply. ‘And the character of the bride and what the lady wanted out of the marriage.’
She was reminded of his answer to his mother’s comment about the actress at the dower house. He evidently did not expect his indiscretions to be overlooked by his bride, but why did he flaunt his mistress so openly? Surely discretion meant keeping her at some distance from his home and not being seen with her so openly? That part of his character did not sit well beside the compassionate, thoughtful man she believed him to be.
‘This particular lady wants nothing,’ she snapped. ‘And now if you have finished philosophising, we will go back to the nursing home. It has been a very long day.’
James managed to step up into the trap himself followed by Diana and Richard. All were silent. James’s head nodded, as if he were falling asleep, and Diana knew he would have a dreadful headache the following morning. Would he be fit to go to the party and could she trust him? She doubted it.
When they arrived, Richard went into the home with them and placated Matron, a service Diana was very glad of, then they returned to the trap and, with hardly a word being spoken, drove back to Borstead Hall.
The sky was full of stars and a full moon hung low in the sky, throwing deep shadows over the house and the huddle of buildings surrounding it. ‘It looks different in the dark,’ she said. ‘Ghostly, almost.’
‘You are not afraid of ghosts, are you?’
‘Are there ghosts?’
‘One, so they say. One of the nuns from the priory was supposed to have thrown herself in the brook and drowned on account of breaking her vows.’
‘What had she done?’
‘Succumbed to the love of a man,’ he said. ‘Now her tormented spirit roams the bank dripping with water, her head festooned in weeds, crying for forgiveness.’
‘Surely you do not believe it?’
He laughed. ‘Of course not.’ He drew the pony up at the stables, jumped down and turned to hand her down. She was standing beside the trap with her hand in his, when Stephen burst from the house and rushed over to them. Before either of them could speak or even move apart, he had landed a punch on Richard’s jaw that sent him stumbling back against the trap and down between its wheels. The startled pony reared up, lifting the wheel off the ground. Diana stuffed her hand into her open mouth to stop herself screaming.
Somehow Richard managed to roll out of the way and hauled himself to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose. ‘I suppose you are going to tell me the reason for that?’ he asked calmly.
‘I should have thought it was obvious.’ Stephen stood, feet apart, fists raised. ‘Anything I have ever wanted you have taken from me and made your own. It has always been the same. Whatever I did, you did it better. Whatever I had, toys, books, pets, you coveted them. You took Lucy from me and now you have turned Diana against me.’
‘No!’ Diana cried.
He went on as if she had not spoken. ‘You knew I had asked her to marry me, so you had to set your cap at her and take her from me—’
‘Stop it,’ Diana cried out. ‘Stop it. It is not true…’
>
He turned on her. ‘And you are nearly as bad as he is, allowing yourself to be seduced.’
She stared at him, unable to find words in her own defence. Far from getting over his disappointment, Stephen had brooded on it until he had worked up such a sense of grievance he could not even think coherently. But even so, a part of her brain was wondering just how true his words were. Had Richard taken Lucy from him? Were they both, she and Lucy, pawns in the deadly game the brothers played with each other? She turned and fled.
Chapter Eleven
The day of the party dawned bright and sunny. The kitchen staff had been supplemented by hired servants and for days there had been a great roasting of fowls, boiling of hams and making of pastry and puddings. Cook was red-faced and agitated, issuing instructions and countermanding them for others until Diana began to wonder if the plump woman would have a fit and throw the whole lot into the air. But now all was ready and huge platters of food and two barrels of beer were carried over to the barn, where the men of the village were setting out tables and chairs. An even more sumptuous repast was being prepared for the house guests who would eat in the grand dining room.
Diana had slept badly and could not concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing. On one thing she was determined. On Sunday morning she would turn her back on Borstead and the whole Harecroft family, but until then she would do the work for which she had been hired and when it came to the party, she would go to the barn and celebrate with the servants because that was where she would feel most at home.
The ballroom floor had been polished to a mirror shine and a dais set up at one end for the musicians. The florist arrived during the morning with a cartload of flowers, which, with the help of Alicia, he proceeded to arrange all over the house. The birthday gifts, which had been arriving for several days, were set out on a table in the corner. Diana, who had begun by wondering if it would be presumptuous of her to give a present, then later had put off doing anything about it because she had decided not to stay, realised that she should have bought something. It was too late now.
