‘I beg your pardon?’ Clara’s voice was icy.
‘I said – yes! I’ll speak to her.’
‘Good.’ Jessica could hear the cool smile in her sister-in-law’s voice. ‘And I’m quite sure she’ll understand.’
‘Yes,’ Giles said, flatly, ‘I’m sure she will.’
A knife chinked quietly onto a plate. ‘I really must go,’ Clara said, ‘I am expected in Lavenham for a meeting of the Committee for the Relief of Mendicants. You’ll be in for luncheon—? Why, good morning, Jessica—’ Clara’s dark brows climbed in surprise as she swept past Jessica, who stood hesitating at the door. ‘Whatever are you doing there, my dear? Eavesdropping?’ and she was gone, smiling.
Jessica glared after her, then erupted into the room where Giles stood, hands in pockets, in characteristic pose, glowering out of the window.
‘Giles!’
He did not turn.
‘Giles!’
He swung his head. ‘Eat your breakfast, Jessica,’ he snapped ill-temperedly. ‘And be quiet.’ Steaming silver dishes of eggs, bacon and kidneys sat upon a side table.
Jessica ignored them as she ignored her brother’s words and their dangerous tone. ‘Giles – you can’t! You can’t turn Mama out of her rooms – not yet—’
He turned back to the window.
‘Giles, answer me!’ Jessica was livid. ‘You can’t do it! It’s too cruel! Those rooms have been hers ever since Father bought the house. At least give her time! You can’t let Clara just turn her out—!’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! You make it sound as if Clara’s throwing her out into the park!’
‘As she would if she could!’ Jessica snapped back without thought, then drew back as Giles swung on her. ‘Giles please!’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t you think that Mama has enough to contend with at the moment? You can’t be so heartless—!’
‘Leave it, Jessica.’
‘I—’
‘Leave it, I say!’
She subsided, biting her lip. Giles’ handsome face was set in anger, though whether with her, with Clara or simply through being so dragged into the squabbles of women Jessica could not tell. ‘It really is none of your business,’ he said after a moment in quieter tone. ‘Leave it to me.’
And with that for the moment she had to be content. But it was by no means the end of the affair. She rode that afternoon in the park and came back to an odd air of tension about the house. The maid who relieved her of riding hat and whip glanced at her surreptitiously as she did so, a curious gleam in her eye. ‘The mistress—’ she stopped, flustered ‘—that is the older Mrs Hawthorne – asked to see you when you came back, Miss.’
Jessica stared at her. ‘The older—?’ She stopped. The older Mrs Hawthorne? Was this more of Clara’s malice? ‘Very well. Thank you.’
She heard the voices before she reached her mother’s sitting room – her mother’s shaking with uncharacteristic rage, Clara’s cool as cucumber and utterly calm. ‘—then I’m sure you’ll see reason. After all, if Giles is to have the adjoining suite it’s obvious that these rooms should be mine—’
‘And they would have been!’ Maria’s voice cracked sharply across the words, ‘if you’d had the courtesy – the decency! – to wait! I’d have given them to you, Clara, in time. Or if I had been asked. But, by God, you shall not demand them as a right!’
‘But it is my right.’ Clara’s voice was level and reasonable. ‘You know it is. Really, Mother-in-Law, you surprise me – such an exhibition is not worthy of you. There cannot be – I have to insist that there will not be – two mistresses at New Hall. You must understand that, and so must everyone else.’ The words, beneath the calm, were steely. As Clara spoke she turned, and caught sight of Jessica, standing struck to silence by the door. ‘Really, there you are again, Jessica, hovering by a door!’ she said, mildly malicious. ‘A quite reprehensible habit, you know.’
Jessica flushed deeply, and pointedly ignored her. ‘You asked for me, Mama?’
For a moment Maria looked at her almost absently before pulling herself together with an obvious effort. ‘Oh – yes, Jessica. I’m sorry. I had forgotten. Other things intervened.’ The words were biting.
‘I could come back later if you’d like?’
‘No, no.’ Maria put slim fingers to her forehead for a moment. ‘It’s quite all right.’ She lifted her head then, her eyes direct and challenging upon her daughter-in-law, ‘Clara was just leaving, I think.’
Clara smiled. ‘So I was.’ She nodded to Jessica, and to Maria. ‘Jessica. Mother-in-Law. I’m sure you’ll see the good sense of my suggestion when you’ve had a chance to think about it.’ She left the room quietly.
Jessica stood, watching her mother. Maria shook her head, slowly, her eyes upon the closed door, suddenly calm. ‘I should not have lost my temper. I – should – not!’
‘With poisonous Clara an angel would be hard pressed,’ Jessica said gloomily, and was surprised by her mother’s sudden, genuine laughter.
‘That’s true.’ Gracefully erect Maria sat upon a small velvet upholstered chair, waving to Jessica to do the same. ‘Have you heard my new title?’ she asked, bleakly humorous.
Jessica eyed her a little warily, uncertain of this swing of mood. ‘The older Mrs Hawthorne?’ she ventured.
Maria nodded, straight-faced.
Jessica nibbled her lip, and then at the grim gleam of laughter in her mother’s brilliant eyes she could not help but laugh herself. ‘It’s ridiculous!’
‘Of course it is. And that’s how we must treat it.’ Maria sat in thought for a moment. Then, ‘Ring for tea, my dear, would you? And send to Mrs Benson to say I wish to see her at four. If I am to vacate my rooms then at least some of my furniture will vacate them with me.’
Jessica stared at her, aghast. ‘You’re – you’re going to let Clara have them?’
‘But of course.’ Her mother’s voice was even. ‘She is right. These are the rooms of the mistress of the house.’ She moved her head a little to look directly into Jessica’s eyes. ‘She will, however, regret the manner of her acquiring them. I do assure you of that.’
And at the perilous glint of rancour in those sapphire eyes Jessica suddenly did not doubt it. As she moved to the bell she found herself wondering if Clara realized who and what she was taking on; for if the war in Europe were over at last, only the first skirmish had been fought in the battle for New Hall.
* * *
Unexpectedly the next, and inevitable clash came not through a matter pertaining to the household but through a change of policy on the estate, in this case instigated by Giles but certainly encouraged if not actively suggested by Clara.
The Game Laws were – as was to be expected in a country still more or less entirely ruled by the landed gentry – punitive. Not a bird could be taken, not a fish nor the smallest game except at risk of prison and the treadmill – or at worst transportation for the culprit and consequent destitution and starvation for his family. It was forbidden for anyone apart from the squire and his eldest son to carry a gun on the land except by express permission. In common with many other landowners William Hawthorne had never invoked the full force of the law upon his own people; upon New Hall land the owner was the law, and his was the hand that dealt it. Let a stranger be caught on Hawthorne land with a gun, a cudgel or a noose and the orders had always been clear; to Melford and the officers of justice he would be marched and the law could take its harsh course, and welcome. For the locals, however, as long as no large-scale operation was suspected, a beating from the gamekeeper and the threat of worse should the offence be repeated had long been regarded as sufficient punishment for the loss of the odd partridge or pheasant. Often a blind eye had been the order of the day, as long as such leniency was not abused. It was with horror, therefore, that Jessica learned of the arrest and threatened prosecution of a lad she had known since childhood for the taking of a hare. Perhaps unwisely she took her distress to her mother.
‘Mam
a, Jem has two sisters and a sickly mother – his father died, you remember, in the epidemic last year? – who’ll surely starve if he’s transported. The new gamekeeper took him last night – badly injured they say – and has already delivered him to the Justices in Melford. There must be a mistake—’
‘How was he injured?’
‘I don’t know. It’s said by a man-trap, but that can’t possibly be – there are none on New Hall land. His sister came to me – we’ve known each other since we were children. She says they’ve been told they are to leave the cottage – Mama, where can they go? What will they do? We must do something—’
Her mother stood up. The severe black she had worn since the death of her husband suited her. Certainly it added a formidable aspect to her slim, arrow-straight form. ‘Come.’
They tracked Giles down in the Estate Office behind the stables. He looked up in more than half-exasperated surprise at the interruption. ‘Mother? Jessica? What are you doing here?’
‘We wish to speak with you, Giles.’ Maria’s tone was uncompromising.
Ben Black, the estate manager, a ruddy-faced, bulky man in his early forties who had scrambled to his feet as they had entered the room took the hint readily, to a glint of approval from Maria.
‘I was just going. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sir, with those reports.’
Giles nodded briefly. ‘Very well.’
The man left. Giles steepled his fingers before him. His face was bland, his eyes cold. Jessica had no doubt at all that he knew their errand. ‘Well?’ The word was polite enough, but not encouraging.
Impulsively Jessica opened her mouth to speak. Her mother held up a commanding hand, and with unthinking obedience she fell to silence. ‘I should prefer to sit, please Giles,’ Maria said gently reproving, ‘and so I am sure would your sister.’
The natural high colour in Giles’ cheeks darkened a little. ‘Of course.’ He came out from behind the desk and drew two chairs forward. Jessica perched impatiently upon one, her mother settled herself with equanimity and grace upon the other. Giles returned to his own chair behind the desk and waited, warily.
‘It seems,’ Maria said at last, ‘that an error of judgement has occurred. I think that one of our employees has been – a little overzealous. I’m sure the matter can be speedily rectified.’
Giles said nothing.
‘A lad – what was his name, Jessica?’
‘Landry. Jem Landry.’
‘Ah yes – Landry – it seems he’s been taken for poaching and has been delivered to the Justice in Melford?’
‘He was hurt too – badly his sister said—’ Jessica burst in, not able to keep quiet.
Unperturbed, Giles nodded. ‘He was caught in one of the new traps. That’s what they’re for.’
Jessica stared at him. Even Maria appeared for the moment bereft of words.
‘A man-trap?’ Jessica gasped. ‘On our land?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But – Father always said—’
Giles stood up and the muted violence in the action cut off the words almost before they were spoken. He leaned forward on the edge of the scarred and littered desk, his weight turning his knuckles white. ‘Father is dead,’ he said, the words clipped and precise, ‘New Hall is mine. As he intended. You – both of you—’ he added with emphasis ‘—know Father’s feelings and intentions in this. That the house and the land and the management of it should pass from eldest son to eldest son. Not to a damned committee!’ The suppressed violence had for the moment silenced even Maria. ‘Mother – New Hall is your home. It will always be your home. But you have to accept this – I am a man! And New Hall is mine! I’ll run it as I see fit and I will not have you interfering in that. Is that clear?’ On the last word he hit the desk violently with his fist. Jessica jumped. Maria did not even blink. ‘The Game Laws are there to be used.’ Giles’ voice had calmed a little, ‘And I will use them. I will not have the tenants taking my game. They have to learn that. They were warned. The boy Landry was taken, red-handed. He pays the penalty.’
Jessica jumped to her feet, pleading. ‘But, Giles, please! His mother – his sisters—! They are to be turned out of their home! He’s hurt – isn’t that enough? He must have had the fright of his life! He will have learned his lesson – and the others too, I’m sure of it! Please don’t do this! If they transport him – Giles, it was only a hare—!’
Stone-faced Giles resumed his seat. ‘No.’
‘You say we know your father’s feelings and intentions,’ Maria said, her voice quiet, ‘well let me say this, and I dare you to deny it. This was never his intention! That his people should be trapped – transported—? Their families turned out into the road? Never!’
‘He ruled his way,’ Giles said, evenly. ‘I rule mine.’
Jessica looked in desperation to her mother; and even she was taken aback at what she saw in the spare, lovely face as Maria Hawthorne looked at the man who was, to all intents and purposes, her only surviving son. Giles held his mother’s eyes for a moment, then sat back, looking down at his clenched hands.
‘No,’ he said.
In silence Maria stood and left the office with no backward glance. Jessica trailed after her. At the door she turned, beside herself with a frustration of fury and distress. She lifted a small finger, pointing. ‘The day that Edward died—’ she heard herself say in a voice she barely recognized as her own, ‘—was a bad day for everyone. Everyone but you!’
His chair rocked violently as he leapt to his feet. ‘Get out!’
She ran.
* * *
The situation, as it was bound to, went from bad to worse.
Within the house Clara, finding something to be desired in some of the older servants’ attitude to the new order of things simply and without consultation dismissed them and hired others from farther afield who were too pleased to find work to find fault with the young mistress who had provided it. Maria, the recipient of desperate appeals, could do nothing but provide good references – which Clara had refused – and a guinea apiece to soften the blow.
Jessica seethed, and was ignored. ‘I’d like to hang, draw and quarter your sister!’ she told Robert furiously as they strolled the banks of the river on the day before he left to go back to university. ‘She’s awful! And getting worse! And as for Giles—!’ She lifted hands to heaven, words deserting her.
Robert smiled a little, sympathetically. The early tints of autumn once more tinged the leaves, but the day was warm with just the softest of breezes to ripple the water. A dragonfly darted, poised and elegant, glinting metallically in the sun. ‘Perhaps you should get married,’ Robert said, teasingly.
He might have suggested that she throw herself in the river. ‘What?’ She spluttered.
‘Get yourself married off.’ The sideways glance he threw her was not altogether laughing. ‘Then you could move out and leave her to it. You must have thought of it?’
She said nothing.
‘Jessie?’
She shrugged and averted her head. ‘Don’t be silly. There’s plenty of time for that.’ She had never told him – had never told anyone – of the strange feelings of panic that assailed her at thought of marriage. She watched Caroline, a docile doll obeying her husband as she had her father with no thought but what she might gain from it, and she could not bear the thought of becoming like her. Worse, she watched Clara and Giles, and hated and feared that undercurrent that she sensed between them. Weeks before she had come across them unexpectedly in the drawing room, quarrelling. The cause of the quarrel she had not known, but she had heard Clara taunt her husband, seen the strange, wild light in her eyes, the challenge in her face as Giles had lifted a hand as if to strike her. But he had not. Instead he had reached for her, and dragged her to him, kissing her with a fury that had been worse than violence. Jessica had fled, had sat upon her bed in the old nursery shivering as if with fever. Was this what marriage was? If so she wanted none of it. ‘It’s all
right for you,’ she said now, miserably. ‘You’re a man. One day Old Hall will be yours. Oh, Robert, how I envy you! I wish I were a boy! I wish I could come to Oxford with you tomorrow!’ She laughed suddenly, forcing gaiety, ‘We could share a room! And I’d torment the life out of you and stop you from studying!’
He said nothing. She glanced at him and was surprised when something close to a flinch of pain flickered upon his face. ‘Why, whatever’s the matter?’
His face rearranged itself into a swift smile. ‘Nothing, you goose,’ he said, and laughed; and Jessica was too preoccupied with her own problems to hear the falseness of the sound.
* * *
The real storm broke after an uneasy two weeks of peace when a small deputation of estate workers, bleak-faced and embarrassed, respectfully requested an interview with Maria Hawthorne; an unprecedented occurrence.
Jessica was with her mother in her small sitting room, perched in the window seat, a book open on her lap when the group were shown in, caps clasped in their hands, booted feet scuffling the carpet uncomfortably.
‘Good morning, Mr Arkwright,’ Maria addressed the obvious leader politely, concealing her surprise, ‘You wished to see me?’
‘Yes, M’m.’
Maria waited.
‘Tha’ss – tha’ss Mr Giles, M’m. We – we wondered if you’d ’ave a word, like, with ’im—’
‘Oh?’ The expression on Maria’s face had sharpened infinitesimally at her son’s name. ‘In some particular aspect?’
‘Yes, M’m. That is—’
‘Oh, get on with it, man,’ someone muttered from the back of the group.
Poor Arkwright flushed like a beetroot. ‘Tha’ss like this, M’m,’ he said in a rush, ‘Mr Giles is cuttin’ the wages. Cuttin’ them to the bone. We can’t live on what he wants to pay us, an’ tha’ss a fact. The little ’uns’d starve, that they would—’
There came a murmur of agreement from the others, a small growl of outrage that stirred the hairs upon Jessica’s neck, though there was no overt hostility within the group.
The Hawthorne Heritage Page 18
