Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles)

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  "It is imperative that I make the very best use of this opportunity, Cathy," she had said, explaining her decision to invite Jonathan's entire family to Edgewater. "If Mr Tate believed that Jonathan Bingley was the best person to administer the trust fund and oversee the use of the money, then I must agree to work with him," she had said with resolution.

  Catherine had not seen fit to question her decision, being herself convinced that Becky was now far calmer and more self-possessed than she had ever been.

  "It is not only in my own interest to do so; it would also advantage those whom I wish to help with this money that my husband has so fortuitously made available to me. Were I to oppose Jonathan's role as trustee, it may delay the work I wish to embark upon and perhaps create some untoward embarrassment between us, which I would greatly regret. Do you not agree, Cathy?" Becky asked, clearly seeking her sister's approval.

  Catherine was happy to agree. "I most certainly do, my dear Becky; I can see no reason why you and Mr Bingley cannot work together on the trust, as Mr Tate had envisaged. He is a gentleman of great integrity and sincerity, and since there has never been any ill-feeling between you, I cannot foresee any problems at all."

  Becky smiled. "Indeed, and there may even be some advantage in it, since I, wishing to retain his good opinion, am unlikely to try his patience, whilst he, not wanting to appear disagreeable and contentious, may be more amenable than some fusty old lawyer might have been," she quipped, convincing Catherine that her sister had quite recovered her composure, even if she had not entirely forgotten her disappointment.

  ***

  The Bingleys arrived and were welcomed at Edgewater with great warmth and courtesy and provided with every comfort. Jonathan had been here before, but Anna, who had a penchant for interior decoration and refurbishment, was enchanted by the tasteful work that had been carried out at Edgewater under Becky's supervision. Then, as her artist's eye caught sight of the lovely vistas the grounds afforded, she declared herself impatient to sketch and paint them.

  "Do look at that group of poplars across the water; it is so appealing," she said as they went out to admire the prospect from the terrace, and Becky agreed.

  "I do wish you would paint the poplars in the spinney; it is quite my favourite spot on the property," said Becky. "There is something truly enchanting about it. I was there yesterday gathering the last of the bluebells and forget-menots, which have been particularly profuse this year, and I was most reluctant to tear myself away and return to the house," she confessed.

  "I can see why," said Anna. "It is indeed an intriguing place. The dappled effect of sunlight and shadows among the poplars creates an atmosphere of mystery; it would be a pleasure to paint the scene."

  As Anna moved to admire the view from another part of the terrace, her son Simon had wandered away from them in the direction of an old gazebo beside the lake and caught sight of a little boy emerging from within.

  Before any of the adults had seen him, Simon, believing he had found a new playmate, had begun to run across the grass towards the child, who, clad in an oversize blue smock and breeches, stood as if petrified beside a clump of wild irises by the lake's edge.

  Hearing Simon's voice, laughing as he ran, Anna turned and, seeing him so close to the water, hitched up her skirts and raced over to him, obviously scaring the little boy, who ran stumbling through the long grass towards the gazebo and disappeared into its shadowy interior.

  Simon had to be restrained by his mother from following his mysterious new friend, while Becky and Jonathan had only just become aware of the child's presence.

  "Who is the boy?" asked Jonathan, and Becky, who was not as yet familiar with all of the servants and labourers she employed, assumed he was the child of one of the women who worked on the property.

  The boy did not reappear, and they thought no more of him, when the maid arrived to say that tea was served and everyone repaired indoors to partake of it.

  Later that evening, after the guests had rested and changed for dinner, they came downstairs to find that Catherine and Frank Burnett were to join them. The conversation was lively and varied all evening, ranging over their many interests. So much so, that there was no request for any musical entertainment until Frank Burnett mentioned that he had such excellent reports of Mrs Bingley's performance on the pianoforte, he would dearly like to hear her play. Becky hastened to open the instrument, which stood in an alcove, and Anna, who was truly an excellent pianist, was soon persuaded to take her place at the keyboard.

  Her performance of a composition by Schubert was so compellingly lovely that no one moved or spoke, except to demand an encore, which Anna obligingly provided. Everyone in the room was enchanted.

  Which is probably why no one saw the little boy outside peering in at the window behind the piano, until Anna, rising from the instrument at the conclusion of her piece, looked out into the darkening garden and exclaimed, "Good heavens! There he is again—it's the little boy by the lake; he was pressed right up against the window, looking in. Ooh! it made me jump!" she said as the others rushed to the window and peered out.

  Jonathan made straight for the glass doors that opened onto the terrace and looked about, but there was no one in sight. The boy had vanished.

  Becky sent for two of the servants and asked them to take a light and search the park around the house. "Mind you don't scare him; he may have wandered away from his mother," she warned, and the men went out to do her bidding.

  While the guests turned their attention to tea, coffee, and sweets, the grounds were searched, but to no avail. No trace was found of the boy.

  It was Jonathan Bingley, coming down early to breakfast on the morrow, who caught sight of his pinched little face pressed up against the cold glass of the bay window in the morning room. Hidden from the child's sight by an elegant chiffonier, Jonathan managed to steal out of the room and come up behind him without his being aware of it.

  "Now, there you are," he said, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Who are you and what on earth are you doing out here?"

  He said not a word, but the look of sheer terror on the boy's face as he struggled to get free of him surprised Jonathan.

  Keeping a firm hold on him, Jonathan attempted to take him, still struggling, into the house, when the boy turned and attempted to bite his hand.

  "Oh no, you don't! Come on now, all I want to know is who you are and what you are doing here. Who sent you?" he asked in a voice that was somewhat louder and which alerted Becky, who had come down into the morning room for breakfast.

  Rushing outside, she was in time to see a young woman in worn work clothes running across the park towards Jonathan and the boy, crying out, "Oh, please, sir, please don't arrest him; he's only a child… He doesn't know what he's doing, sir. Please don't hand him over to the police."

  As she reached the pair, she grabbed the child's arm and shook him. "Oh Tom, you naughty little boy! How often have I told you not to go near the big house? Whatever have you done?"

  Then turning to Jonathan again, she begged, "I am very sorry, sir. If he has done any harm I'll make it good. Please don't send for the police."

  "Send for the police? I had no intention of doing anything of the sort," said Jonathan, sounding quite offended at the suggestion that he would hand a child over to the police. "He has been seen around the house last evening and again today—I simply wanted to know who he was and what he was doing here. He wouldn't answer me; he struggled and tried to bite my hand! Now why on earth would he do that?"

  The woman held a hand to her mouth. "I do beg your pardon, sir. He couldn't answer you; he cannot speak; it isn't that he is dumb or anything… he could speak even as a baby, but he just stopped about two years ago after the police came and took his father away. They say he had a bad fright then, sir, and never spoke again."

  Becky, who had come right up to them, still believing the young woman was a labourer working the grounds, asked, "Who is he? Is he your brother?"
>
  The girl smiled and, looking no older than eighteen years of age, answered, "No, ma'am; he's my son, Tom. I am sorry he's given you so much trouble, ma'am, he's never done it before. I did tell him he must not go near the big house or approach any of the ladies or gentlemen. He was to sit quietly in the gazebo until I came for him, but he doesn't always understand, ma'am; he gets a little excited and runs about, but he means no harm, ma'am."

  "And where in the grounds do you work while Tom stays in the gazebo?" asked Becky.

  To their amazement, she replied, "I don't work here, ma'am, I work in the hop fields over on the other side of the river. They don't let you bring young children along, not unless they can work as well, and he can't; he doesn't understand enough—he would make a mess and then I'd lose my job as well."

  "And how long has Tom been sitting quietly in the gazebo while you went to work in the hop fields?" asked Jonathan.

  "About two weeks, sir," she replied, adding, "I am very sorry, ma'am; I understand it was wrong, but I had no other way. I had to get work to feed him and myself, and the work in the hop fields is better than road work, ma'am."

  "What is your name?" asked Becky, who had noticed a ring on the finger of her left hand.

  She answered quickly—almost too quickly, Jonathan thought—"Alice, ma'am, Alice Grey," she said.

  "And are you expected at work today, Alice?" asked Becky.

  The young woman bit her lip and appeared somewhat tongue-tied before saying, "No, ma'am, I asked for an hour or two to take Tom to the apothecary in the village. He's been coughing a lot lately. He needs some medicine."

  "And where do you live?" asked Jonathan, beginning to be concerned that the child's sickness was probably a consequence of his living conditions.

  This time the answer came much more slowly. "Here and there, sir." She looked down at her feet, and Becky, following her eyes, saw her rather dainty boots were scuffed and dusty from walking.

  "What do you mean, here and there?" she asked. "Do you mean you have no place to stay? Where do you and Tom sleep at night?"

  Again, Alice looked down and away as she answered, almost reluctantly, "In one of the barns over there, on the other side of the lake, beyond the spinney." She pointed in the direction of the out buildings. "I am truly sorry, ma'am, I should have asked, but I was afraid I would be refused and then where would I have gone? I didn't think it would do any harm, ma'am; I didn't take anything. It was the small barn where they keep the empty sacks and things. We just kept our bundle of things there and slept overnight."

  "And you have been sleeping there for two weeks?" asked Becky, astonished that no one had noticed.

  "Yes, ma'am, just overnight. I spend many hours weeding and clearing up after they harvest the hops. We had a place in the village behind the fields, a farmer let us use his outhouse, but he wanted more rent, and there were other things… I couldn't afford it, ma'am, not on what they pay in the hop fields."

  "And how did you find this place?" Becky asked.

  "One of the lads in the village told me about it; he said he had slept there once or twice, when it was wet and he couldn't get home. I thought it would do just for a short time, until we found another place. It was clean and safe for Tom as well."

  Jonathan was shaking his head, and Becky was finding it difficult to keep her own feelings under control. The young woman looked thin and weary, and the boy gazed longingly at a cloth bag in her hand, which looked as though it contained food. From the aroma emanating from it, it was probably stale bread and cheese, Becky thought.

  Speaking very quickly, as if she had to act before she was persuaded to change her mind, Becky said, "Alice, I cannot have you and the boy sleeping in an open barn—it isn't safe. Besides, it might encourage others to do the same, and we cannot allow that. But, until we find somewhere more suitable, my housekeeper, Mrs Bates, will give you a room in the house. But first, you will go into the kitchen and have something to eat and drink. Tom looks hungry, and I am sure you could do with a good bowl of porridge, too. Come with me."

  As Jonathan went in to join the others in the morning room, Becky took Alice and Tom into the kitchen and explained to Mrs Bates that they were to be fed and allowed to wash themselves and their clothes and found a place to sleep at night.

  "The boy is sick, Mrs Bates, they've been sleeping in one of the barns and working in the hop fields. They will need some clean clothes, and, Alice, when you are ready, I should like to talk some more. But first, we will send for the apothecary Mr. Thomson to take a look at Tom's chest—that cough does sound bad," she said and left them in the kitchen, with the girl's expressions of gratitude in her ears and tears welling in her eyes.

  As Becky walked out, two young chambermaids, having just come downstairs, stood at the door, looking askance at the young woman and her boy as they sat at the kitchen table eating their porridge. Their expressions said it all. Becky spoke sharply to them, "Stop staring at them; they're poor and homeless."

  "They're dirty, ma'am," the girls protested, all starched and superior in their uniforms.

  "So would you be if you had no proper place to sleep. They're no worse than you; they've fallen on hard times, that's all. It's only good luck that keeps you from going down the same path. Mind you treat them right," Becky said, and she sounded quite severe.

  The maids did not look convinced, but they did know better than to disobey their mistress. Mrs Tate had a reputation for kindness; equally she could be very firm with anyone who defied her instructions.

  Becky entered the morning room to find everyone agog to discover who the young woman was and what Becky intended to do with her. She had no definite answer to either of their questions.

  Anna had heard some of the story from Jonathan. "Do you suppose, Becky, that the girl is alone?" she asked.

  Becky could not be certain. "Do you mean does she have a husband? Well, she does wear a wedding ring and mentioned that the boy's father had been taken by the police some years ago. It seems the shock of that encounter has stopped his speech. The child does not say a word."

  "Poor little thing," said Anna, thinking of her own two sons, "he looks thin and scared. He cannot be eating very well."

  "Indeed, I doubt they pay them very much for working the hop fields—the poor woman must have struggled to find sufficient food for the two of them," said Jonathan, whose compassionate heart was already quite deeply affected by what he had heard. "It's unconscionable, but no one will do anything about it."

  Becky nodded and said, "I know what you mean, but at least we have the chance to put that to right; once they have eaten and cleaned themselves up, perhaps we could begin to unravel the real story of Alice Grey."

  Chapter Three

  The story of Alice Grey took a good deal of unravelling.

  It was fortunate that Becky Tate was rather less impatient now than she had been at twenty, for the young woman was wary and unwilling to talk about personal matters, particularly those relating to her past.

  When she and the boy had eaten and washed themselves, they were summoned to Becky's sitting room. Dressed in a motley collection of hand-medowns supplied by Mrs Bates, they looked a rather comical pair: she in a faded scullery maid's uniform and apron, and the child in pantaloons and an overshirt so large, it could well have been his nightgown!

  But at least they were clean, warm, and well fed.

  One thing was more apparent now than it had been before. Alice, her face scrubbed, her hair washed and plaited, looked more respectable than she had appeared in her shabby work clothes. Her boots, which she had cleaned, though worn and scuffed, were well made. She could have been no more than twentythree or -four at the most, Becky decided, noting the smooth complexion, fine slender neck, and slim brown arms.

  The boy Tom seemed quieter now, more amenable, since he had eaten.

  It must have been hunger that made him so restive, thought Becky, while his mother appeared nervous, probably anxious about her situation.

&nbs
p; While Becky could understand her anxiety, she was determined to discover

  more about them. It had already occurred to her from aspects of the young woman's appearance as well as her speech, which was for the most part correct and without any trace of a country dialect, that Alice Grey (if that was her real name) was not some itinerant farmhand. In spite of her well-worn work clothes, she looked and sounded quite different to the young women who filled the fruit orchards and hop fields of the county every year.

  There was something about her that had attracted Becky's attention—a quality of resilience and determination despite her obvious vulnerability that set her apart. Her features were small and delicate, as were her hands and feet. Her manner was neither arrogant nor obsequious, and there was a sense of self-sufficiency about her that was most intriguing.

  When asked to sit, she looked around the room, drew out a stepping stool from beneath the bookshelves, and seated herself directly in front of Becky, with the boy by her side on the floor.