by Anna King
Michael pulled viciously at a long yellow weed, wishing the girl would go away. He wished wholeheartedly that that night had never happened, for the girl had followed him around like a lovesick cow ever since. He had tried his best to avoid her but to no avail: every chance she got she was out in the garden standing over him as she was now, hoping, he knew, for some kind word, but he had none to give. It was bad enough that he had slept with her, an action he bitterly regretted even before the loveless act had finished, but there was no way he was going to give her any further encouragement. If she’d been a virgin it would have been different, for then he would have tempered his irritation with kindness, telling himself that she must have thought highly of him indeed. For no girl or woman gives up that precious commodity unless she really cares for the man in question. But this one standing behind him had been no innocent. Begod, no, she knew what it was all about, right enough! Now he had the problem of shaking her off – if she was entertaining any thoughts about a permanent relationship, she was going to be sorely disappointed. He had definite ideas about the kind of woman he would eventually marry, and when he took his bride to bed it would be with the certain knowledge that he was the first man she had been with, someone like Ruby.
What was he thinking of? That avenue was closed to him. He had thought he meant something to her, but since that night in the old lady’s room he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her. Well, he’d give it another month, and if she still hadn’t made any attempt to seek him out, he would move on. But there was still Agnes to contend with. Straightening up, he stroked his chin absently with a dirt-streaked hand while he sought for the right words. He didn’t want to hurt the girl, for he wasn’t a cruel man, but he had to make it clear that there was no future for her with him.
Clearing his throat, he turned to face her, and as gently as possible said, ‘Look, Agnes, I’ve been meaning to speak to you about the other night. It’s heart-sorry I am that I behaved the way I did, and I can promise you that it will never happen again. A good-looking woman like yourself can do a lot better than the likes of me, so what say we forget it happened, eh?’
The girl’s eyes clouded over in anger, and a mulish look came over her normally happy face. ‘Forget it, you say?’ Agnes stood squarely in front of him, her hands resting firmly on her ample hips. ‘And suppose I don’t want to forget it? Just suppose there’s a result of that night – have you thought of that?’ She saw the look of surprise and disbelief that crossed Michael’s face and felt a surge of triumph.
Then it was her turn to stare open-mouthed in disbelief as he threw back his head in a great gust of laughter. ‘Oh, no, me darlin’! You’re not catching me with that old trick. I got off the boat from Ireland ten years ago, not yesterday. Go on now, get yourself back into the house and tell Cook I’ll be in shortly.’ As Agnes turned away dejectedly, he couldn’t prevent his impulse to take a swipe at her swaying backside.
The stinging slap brought Agnes’s head round sharply, but the angry words died on her lips at the sight of the engaging grin that was now spread across Michael’s face. In spite of her anger and disappointment, she felt herself smiling back at him before walking back into the house.
Left alone once more, the grin slipped from Michael’s face. That little scene could have turned very nasty, but once again his Irish charm had rescued him, as it had done so many times before. Whistling gaily, he returned to his work.
* * *
Ruby watched the small scenario from her bedroom window, her ears straining to hear the conversation, but the two people she was most interested in were too far away from her to hear more than a muted fusion of voices. She watched with sadness and envy as Michael playfully slapped Agnes on the bottom before sending her on her way, smiling happily to herself. Her body weighed down with unhappiness, she let the curtain drop and walked to her bed. Easing herself onto the soft feather mattress, she let her eyes close. Lady Caldworthy was resting, as was her custom after breakfast; she always maintained it helped her digestive system to rest after every meal, but Ruby suspected it was more the onset of old age that prompted these frequent naps.
Turning onto her side, she tried to take a nap herself; there was nothing else to do these days. Her work had become less and less over the past months, with Lady Caldworthy delegating her former duties to the rest of the staff. The only real work she did now was to attend the old lady, who had seemed to become more and more dependent upon her. In fact, just lately she had seemed afraid to let Ruby out of her sight. The social barriers that had existed between them were slowly crumbling and Ruby knew that the woman lying in the next room was coming to look upon her as a friend rather than a paid companion. She in turn had become very fond of her gruff employer and knew that despite her threat to leave if Michael went, she would never be able to bring herself to carry it out. And now she was trapped here in this house in much the same way as she’d been at home: trapped by her own feelings of loyalty.
Dear God! What was she to do? Nothing had worked out the way she had planned. Where was her precious independence now? Where was the pride in receiving money for a job well done? The only experience she had come across was heartache. Sighing heavily, she stared mournfully at the high whitewashed ceiling, her mind wandering aimlessly, then with a start she sat bolt upright, her hands clenching themselves into tight fists.
‘What’s come over you, Ruby Chadwick, moping and mooning like a half-wit!’ she reproached herself sharply. ‘Things don’t happen just by wishing for them, you have to make them happen. So get up off your backside and start doing some positive thinking.’
Her spirits restored, she got off the bed and began to walk slowly round her room, her active mind whirling with plans for the future – her future. Next week was a bank holiday, and she had the Sunday off to visit her parents. She had originally intended to spend the Monday with them as well, but Lady Caldworthy had organised a garden party for a few of her old friends, friends with eligible grandsons, no doubt. She had to applaud the old woman’s cunning, and she, Ruby, would go along with the plans to please the mistress she had become so very fond of. On Monday she would wear the blue dress she’d worn for her 18th birthday and, if necessary, flirt with any young man who attended the gathering. The practice would come in useful! Crossing to the window once more, she looked out just as Michael was gazing at her window. Waving gaily to him, she was delighted to see the genuine smile of pleasure light up his face at the sight of her. Giving one last wave, she turned and made her way across her room to check if Lady Caldworthy was awake yet, and as she opened her door, she thought cheerfully, ‘Make the most of your freedom, Michael O’Brien, because I’m coming after you!’
With a sudden rush of confidence she brushed aside her anxieties over her stump and the hateful wooden leg. She was pretty and intelligent, and no more would she look upon herself as a cripple. She was as good as any woman, and once she was Mrs O’Brien, she would no longer have to prove anything to herself, and would at last be able to lay her ghosts to rest.
* * *
‘Have you taken leave of your senses? You calmly tell me you’re planning on marrying a common gardener, just like that? No lead-up to it? No, what do you think I should do? You’ve gone mad, that’s what’s happened! Shut up with a senile old woman all day, it’s sent you round the twist!’
‘It’s no use your shouting and carrying on, Lily! I’ve made up my mind. If Michael will have me, then I will marry him, and nothing you can do or say will make me think again.’
Lily stared aghast at her friend’s set determined face, her mind in a turmoil. She didn’t know whether to laugh or run for a doctor. God Almighty, if the master heard her, he’d lock her up in the attic and throw away the key, and she’d stand guard outside the door; yes, she would, if it meant saving her dearest friend from a life of hardship and misery. Yet if Ruby was determined to marry this man, she’d do it; one way or another she’d do it. Lily shook her head wildly. She couldn’t allow this to happen, she
wouldn’t let it happen. Ruby wasn’t the only one with a strong determined streak. Raising her chin, she said sarcastically, ‘And what does this Michael O’Brien have to say about the forthcoming marriage, or haven’t you told him yet?’
She waited for Ruby to swing round, bracing herself for an angry retort, but Ruby continued to sort through her wardrobe, picking out various dresses and putting them back again. Then, gently pushing Lily to one side, she carried the long blue evening gown over to the bed and carefully placed it across the coverlet before going to her dressing table and opening the top drawer. ‘Where are my necklace and earrings, Lily? Have they been put into the safe? I can’t wear the dress without them; it’s too plain on its own.’
Exasperated beyond control, Lily grabbed hold of Ruby’s arm, turning her round to face her. ‘Have you listened to a word I’ve said? Your father would never allow you to marry beneath your station. I believe he’d kill you first!’ Her voice dropped to a whisper before repeating, ‘He would, you know. He’d kill you before he’d let you marry a common Irishman.’
Ruby felt a jolt of fear at the ominous words, then attempted to laugh, but the effect was strained even to her own ears. ‘You must stop reading those cheap novelettes you’re so fond of! My dad isn’t capable of killing anyone, and as for marrying beneath my station, what is my station? I was born over a pub in the East End of London and spent my childhood years running with the assorted ragamuffins of the streets – when my dad wasn’t watching, of course. If my grandfather hadn’t died and left Dad his money, we’d still be there.’
Lily closed her eyes wearily. Was Ruby being deliberately dense? Surely she knew that her father considered himself one of the upper class. Even when he’d stood behind the bar of the King’s Arms he’d thought himself a cut above everyone else in the neighbourhood. Running her hand distractedly through her blonde hair, she thought frantically, ‘Why did this have to happen?’ But maybe the Irishman would take to his heels when he learned of Ruby’s plans for him. If, as Ruby maintained, he had as yet no inkling of her feelings, there was a good chance he wouldn’t take kindly to having his future mapped out for him. From what little Ruby had told her about him, he didn’t sound the type of man who would be willing to brave the wrath of any angry father but was rather the kind who preferred an uncomplicated life. Please God that was the case, because, if not, all hell would break loose soon. Then, quite suddenly, a new thought came to her, giving her the first glimpse of hope she’d had since Ruby had dropped the bombshell in her lap.
‘All right, Ruby, let’s say for argument’s sake that this Michael of yours agrees to marry you. Do you think he’ll be prepared to wait three years until you come of age? Because no matter how much you protest that your father will come to accept the situation, we both know you’re deluding yourself. And what about your mother? I can’t see her being over the moon with joy either, can you?’
With shaking hands Ruby continued to fold the long dress carefully, her face, studiously calm, reflecting none of the apprehension and fear she was feeling. All of what Lily had said was true: just thinking of facing her dad with her news – providing Michael felt the same, of course – made her bowels turn to water. But that last piece of information about having to wait three years made her feel physically sick. She could see all her carefully laid plans flying out of the window, for the inner part of herself that never shied from the truth told her with sickening clarity that Michael would never wait three years for her; it was doubtful if he’d wait three months.
She knew from her conversations with him that this post as gardener was the longest he had ever held down, but if that was the case, why had he stayed so long? She’d hoped, desperately hoped, that the reason for his continuing presence was herself, but just suppose it was Agnes he was staying on for? Oh, no, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t! But she’d seen them together, seen the easy familiarity between them, but surely if it was Agnes he was after, he’d have spoken to her before now, and he hadn’t, she was sure of that if of nothing else. If he had, the news would have been common knowledge in the house; Agnes would have seen to that, for it was obvious the girl was smitten with him – as indeed she herself was. Well, there was only one way to find out, and tomorrow at the garden party she would seek him out and ask him. It would take all the courage she possessed, but do it she would and take the consequences, however painful they might be.
Forcing a watery smile to her lips, she faced the anxious Lily and said softly, ‘Don’t worry, Lily, everything will be all right. Now will you help me to fold this dress so that it won’t crease on the journey back to the house?’
* * *
The large immaculate garden was full of people. Lady Caldworthy had delved deep into her memory to renew old acquaintances, in particular those friends who had grandsons of marriageable age. Seated in a large wicker chair in the centre of the lush green lawn, she smiled happily at the scene before her.
‘Would you care for a drink, ma’am?’ Michael stood at her side dressed in the unfamiliar garb of butler, because Mr Masters had had the misfortune to sprain his ankle just hours before.
‘Thank you, Michael, I’ll have a glass of port,’ she replied graciously, her ever-watchful eyes noticing that the black morning coat seemed to be straining across his broad shoulders. Taking the proffered glass from his white-gloved hand, she continued, ‘Are you managing all right with your new duties?’
‘Yes, thank you, ma’am, although I wouldn’t care to make a career of it.’ Bowing slightly, he moved off into the crowd, leaving Lady Caldworthy free to resume her watch on Ruby.
Taking a delicate sip of her port, she looked over to where the girl stood talking to a young fair-haired man, the eligible grandson of old friends she hadn’t seen for years. He looked presentable enough, and she could only hope he hadn’t inherited his parents’ boring attributes. She felt ridiculously pleased that so many of her friends had responded to her invitation, particularly as she hadn’t seen many of them for a very long time. It had come as a great surprise to find that the majority of them were still living, but although she was genuinely pleased to see them again, it was their grandchildren whom she was most interested in. Of the 12 couples she had invited, she had been delighted to note eight grandsons accompanying them. Surely there would be one among them who would take Ruby’s fancy?
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her girlhood friend Celia Simpson bearing down on her, and groaned inwardly. When she had sent out the invitations, she’d had no real hope of receiving a reply, imagining the woman to be long dead. But here she was, larger than life and even more tiresome that she’d remembered. Holding her arm was a young man young enough to be her grandson, who had been introduced earlier on as a ‘very dear friend’, in such a cloying manner that Lady Caldworthy had felt quite nauseated.
‘Mabel, my dear, I can’t tell you how lovely it’s been to see you again, and all our old friends. To be honest, I thought most of them would be dead, but I’ve had such a marvellous time that I’ve decided to hold a party of my own. You will come, won’t you, Mabel dear? and of course you must bring that sweet companion of yours. Such a charming girl.’ Dropping her voice, she glanced round furtively before adding, ‘Anne Forsythe told me that the girl has a peg-leg. I couldn’t believe it at first until I caught a glimpse of the wooden tip showing below her dress, and I said to Anne, how like dear Mabel to take a cripple into her home and treat her as one of the family! You’ve always been so kind, my dear. She comes from a good family, so I hear. Such a tragic waste of a young life, and so pretty, too.’
Lady Caldworthy looked with distaste at the heavily made-up face peering down at her. Now she remembered why she had broken off the friendship. Celia had always been an empty-headed fool, especially where men were concerned, but in her youth she had been kind. Now it seemed that her inborn insensitivity had turned to cruelty, and this fact was borne out when she added spitefully, ‘I see young Thomas Castleton is taking a good deal of int
erest in her, I wonder if he knows of her deformity? You really should warn her not to set her expectations too high, my dear. As I’ve already said, she’s very pretty, but young men are very particular where women are concerned, and I really can’t see any of our circle of friends welcoming a cripple into the family, can you?’
Mabel drew herself upright, her face dark with rage. How dared this raddled old woman criticise Ruby in such a manner? Her cold glance took in the frilly low-cut blue dress that would have been better suited to a girl of 20, and then to the over-painted face. Good God, she had enough powder on to blow up the Houses of Parliament! In a voice that dripped with ice, she retorted, ‘There I have to disagree with you, Celia. I would imagine that any parents would welcome a young, intelligent, loving girl like Ruby into their family. As for young men today being particular…’ Here she broke off, her eyes going to the effeminate man standing awkwardly by the side of his elderly benefactor, then, her lips curling with distaste at the sight of the ill-matched pair she continued,
‘There will always be some who aren’t too fussy whom they take up with, provided, of course, that the necessary inducement is offered. Fortunately, Ruby will never have to bribe her way into a man’s affections: her good breeding would never allow her to stoop to such a distasteful level.’ She watched with satisfaction as the young man’s face became suffused with colour before switching her attention to her one-time friend who was by now bridling with indignation. Her shot had found its mark.
‘Really, Mabel, you always did have a vindictive character! What you are implying is completely untrue, and I will not stay here to be insulted in this manner! As for your precious protégée, well, I’d like to wager that before too many years have passed she’ll be only to glad to drop her standards. Pretty and intelligent she may be, but she’s still a cripple, and…’ Her next words were cut off, to be replaced by a loud shriek as a pitcher of lemonade cascaded down the front of her silk dress.
