* * *
She was glad in the end that Robert had refused to go, for it gave her a chance of an afternoon in the air. She never tired of the countryside; never tired of the fertile greens of grass and leaf, the call of the birds, the movement of water, the scud of clouds across a wide, pale sky. Depressed as she had felt at Robert’s defeatist and unhelpful attitude the gentle ride to the farm cheered her. She smiled to see the small starry faces of the milkmaids that grew in the ditch, at the gold of buttercups opening to the sun. Her brain that had been clogged with anger began to work again. She must decide between the three applicants who had answered her advertisement of the post of governess to her daughter. One of them was Scots. Her mouth twitched. The poor woman did not know the handicap under which she laboured! Of the other two the one seemed a little young, and the other had experience only of boys—
She had come to the track that led to the farm. She chirrped quietly to the horse, a docile beast lent to her by her mother from the still well-stocked stables of New Hall, and turned down the rutted way. To her surprise in the fenced field to her left a small flock of sheep cropped contentedly, their mild, quiet faces turned to her as she rode by. The small farmhouse, dwarfed by its barns and outhouses, stood in a bare earth yard around which pecked a few scrawny chickens. It was neat and tidy but unhomely. Jessica recalled from her childhood when a smiling, buxom woman – she could not remember her name – had given her cakes and frothing milk from a doorway that had been garlanded with sweet-smelling roses. Now there was no welcoming air to the uncurtained windows and the closed door, and the roses had gone. The yard was stacked neatly and tidily, no farmyard clutter, no garden, not one blade of grass let alone a flower.
She dismounted and, the reins over her arm, knocked on the door.
Nothing happened.
She knocked again, sharply. The animal stood with docile good temper, nuzzling her ear.
From one of the barns came the sudden sound of hammering.
She walked towards the sound, the horse plodding behind her. The great barn doors were open, flooding the dusty space with a dim light, shadowing the far corners. She stopped just inside the doors, blinking against the gloom. Bars of sunlight gleamed through the spaces of the boarded walls and the huge tiled roof above its ancient blackened beams. A big man who had, with his back to her, been bending over a great five-bar gate that lay upon the earth floor, straightened and turned, a sledge hammer swinging in his hand as if it were feather-light. He was massively muscled, his skin weather-beaten to gold.
He tossed the shock of ill-kempt chestnut hair from his eyes as he peered at her, silhouetted as she was against the light. In the first moment of seeing him she felt certain she knew him, but she could not hold the memory, and she could not place him. She smiled. ‘Good afternoon.’
He stood for a moment unmoving. Then he nodded his head and made the vaguest of movements with his hand that might have been taken for the salute of servant to mistress, but, Jessica noted with amusement, equally well might not. ‘Y’re Ladyship.’
She never would – never could get used to that title. ‘You’re the tenant of Home Farm?’
‘Tha’ss right, Y’re Ladyship. Took over when Uncle died a few year back.’
‘We haven’t seen you at the Hall?’
‘No, Y’re Ladyship.’ His voice was non-committal. ‘Tha’ss not time for rent yet.’
The strange feeling of familiarity had returned as he spoke. She looked up at him. ‘Forgive me – I’ve been away for some time – but don’t I know you?’
For the first time a smile hovered at the edges of his mouth and the hazel eyes crinkled a little in a nut-brown face. ‘That you do, Y’re Ladyship,’ he said, unhelpfully.
She studied his face, frowning a little. Then, exasperated, she shook her head. ‘Oh, I’m sorry! I really can’t remember—?’
‘Charlie Best, Y’re Ladyship.’
It took a moment for the name to connect with her memory. Then she smiled, staring in delight at the young man she had last seen when she had danced with him at her sister’s wedding. And before that— ‘Charlie Best! Oh, no – it can’t be!’
‘’Tis so, Y’re Ladyship.’
‘Oh, Charlie—’ She was laughing. ‘You’ll have to stop calling me that! You bloodied my nose twice when we were children—!’
‘Three times, Y’re Ladyship.’
They stood, smiling at each other. She sensed that the mildly hostile reserve with which he had greeted her had slipped away. Then he recovered himself, and his smile lost something of its spontaneity. ‘You’ll excuse me a moment, Y’re Ladyship?’
‘Yes, of course.’
She watched as he picked up the gate as effortlessly as if it had been made of paper, and stood it against the wall. Then he came back to her, dusting his hands on his trousers, and waited.
‘Could you spare me a few minutes, Charlie?’
‘Of course, Y’re Ladyship. Please come this way.’
She followed him to the house. It was stark, and barely furnished, no curtains at the window, no rug on the floor, simply a couple of stools and one high-backed chair and a table. Old ashes lay dead in the fireplace but other than that the single room was scrupulously clean. A cupboard in the corner was the only other furniture. He gestured a little shamefacedly, and her heart went out to him in sympathy. ‘Tha’ss not much, I’m afraid, Y’re Ladyship – I’ve no wife to keep for me, you see—’
‘You never married?’ she asked, surprised.
His whole body stilled for a moment, then he relaxed, and nodded. ‘Aye, I did. Little Betty Morris. You remember her? Pretty little thing she was.’
‘Yes. I do remember her.’ Her voice was quiet.
‘She died. A year to the day after the wedding, it was. She died, and the child.’
‘Oh Charlie – I’m so sorry—’
He shrugged. Shook his head. ‘It happens. That was three years ago – a bit more. Time passes. That helps.’
She bit her lip, not sure what else to say in face of his calm. The man radiated a strength that was more than physical, something which inspired trust, and liking. She smiled. ‘Well, now – I’ve been going through things at the Hall. Your rent is paid, and the tithes collected, but there are no actual accounts for the past few years?’
He nodded. ‘Tha’ss right. Haven’t been for years. Old Bill – my uncle – he wasn’t one for figures an’ such, and Sir Thomas wasn’t much of a one for ’em either. Matter of trust I s’pose you might call it—’ He lifted his shaggy head and met her eyes with a movement that held pride, and a faint trace of defiance.
‘I understand that,’ she said, quickly, ‘I’m not—’
‘You’ll be wantin’ to put in your own tenant I suppose?’ he interrupted her abruptly.
‘Why no! Of course not! We’re perfectly satisfied. It’s just that – well – affairs at Old Hall are in a bit of a muddle. They’ve been left to themselves for rather too long I’m afraid. Old Sir Thomas left debts we have to pay. We have to get things on a more businesslike basis.’
His stance had not changed. ‘You’ll be for sellin’ the place?’
‘The farm? Absolutely not. What good would the house be without the land?’ Neither of them had noticed that he had stopped his monotonous reiteration of her title. ‘But we need to know how it’s being used – if the best is being made of it. I noticed—’ she added, real interest in her voice, ‘that you have sheep in the field out there?’
‘A few, yes.’
‘Do they pay?’
‘Properly handled, yes. I think so. Haven’t had a chance to try with a larger flock, or a better breed. Problem is money—’
She smiled a smile that turned into a laugh. ‘The problem, Charlie Best, is always money—!’
* * *
The encounter with Charlie delighted her. An inspection of the farm had proved, as she had been certain it would, that he was a diligent and careful tenant. But more, in the matter
of the sheep he had shown imagination and a willingness to experiment. Most small tenant farmers, especially one with as shaky a right to the land as his – he had worked for his uncle when he had been alive and with the easy-won approval of Robert’s father had simply taken over the place on his death – would have been contented simply to scrape a living from the soil and leave it at that. But faced with falling prices and fierce competition he had diversified and invested the small profits he had made and that he spent neither on hired labour nor on the creature comforts of life in the sheep. So far the experiment was just that, and the animals had not proven themselves financially, but at least – he had pointed out to Jessica with sober satisfaction – they reproduced themselves, did not fail in bad weather as the crops had twice done in three years, and provided meat for the table and wool for the back when times were hard. ‘Used to be sheep country round here,’ he had finished, laconically. ‘Could be again.’
She was riding the river path, deep in thought, wrestling again with the intransigent problem of Old Hall’s decrepit roof when her mount stopped short and sidestepped, bringing Jessica sharply forward in her saddle. She tightened the reins, bringing the startled horse to a neat standstill, then lifted her eyes to the rider who had appeared on the pathway before her, meeting for the first time in five years the brilliant, unsmiling eyes of her brother Giles.
He had not changed. The bright hair gleamed as brightly, the handsome face was as handsome, the body was supple and easy in the saddle. The feelings that the sight of him spawned had not changed either. She sat rigid, giving him no greeting.
‘Well, little sister. I heard you were back.’
She said nothing.
‘And with a daughter, I gather.’ His eyes showed no expression whatsoever. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’
His horse, a bright bay mare with a wild eye, danced restlessly. He brought her to quiet with a hard hand. ‘You’re staying?’
‘Yes.’
The mare moved again, throwing up a mettlesome head. He controlled her with ease, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘I’m surprised.’
‘Oh?’
He shrugged. ‘The old house is finished. A stone around your neck. If I were you I’d get out while I could, before it bankrupted me.’
‘Thank you for your advice.’ Her voice was cool.
‘Think about it. If you want to get rid of it – of the farm – I’d be willing to take it off your hands.’
She shook her head. ‘No. Thank you,’ she added, carefully, keeping iron control of the revulsion that the very sight of him caused her.
‘Perhaps I’ll speak to Robert. He, after all, is the master of the house, is he not?’ The words were mocking, deliberately provocative.
She lifted her chin and watched him, levelly. ‘I shouldn’t, if I were you.’ She made no attempt whatsoever to disguise the meaning behind the words.
The smile fled his face.
‘I’m staying at Old Hall,’ she said, quietly. ‘It is my home now, and my daughter’s. Stay away from us, Giles. Save your mischief for others.’
He glared at her for a moment before swinging his mare violently away.
‘Giles!’ She called after him, her voice sharp.
He reined in, turned impatiently. His face was black with anger.
‘Why didn’t Clara let us know about Robert’s father? About what was happening at Old Hall?’
He raised fair, straight brows. ‘She quarrelled with her mother. Over Patrick. They haven’t spoken for more than two years.’
Jessica stared at him aghast. ‘And for that she’d leave the poor woman – alone – half-mad – with no attempt to bring help?’
He shrugged. ‘She’s an unforgiving woman.’ He paused, fighting the restless mare. ‘I should remember that if I were you.’ He stood the beast on its hind legs, dancing her in an ostentatious display of horsemanship before he set her at the path and disappeared into the trees.
Jessica watched the retreating figure in distaste. ‘If anyone ever deserved each other, Giles Hawthorne,’ she said aloud, ‘you and Clara do.’
Chapter Fourteen
A week later a letter at last arrived for Robert from Arthur, a long-awaited event that first brought happiness to Jessica’s husband but then, perversely, plunged him into a depression deeper than ever, a mood from which he could be neither coaxed nor bullied. Arthur’s letter, Jessica could not help but notice, was very brief, a mere page of scrawled, widespaced writing. The one that Robert wrote in reply was the length of one of Lord Byron’s epic poems; but neither to that nor to either of his next two epistles, equally long, did he get any reply. Jessica tried valiantly to ignore his ill-temper, as she ignored the fact that the bulk of the work and organization of Old Hall had fallen upon her shoulders, with little or no support from Robert at all. She did not dare to protest, knowing too well how he would counter any complaint. So whilst poor Sarah drifted about the house like a plump, pale ghost Jessica ran the household on their meagre means, hired the essential governess for Gabriella – she had in the end chosen the very young Jane Barton, since neither of the other two more experienced applicants would accept the pittance that was all she could offer – went through the Home Farm accounts with Charlie Best and continued doggedly with her cataloguing of the medieval books and manuscripts that were to be sent to auction.
The summer, after a promising start, was disappointingly cool and wet, and the crops stood, bedraggled and green in the fields. Several days’ thunderous rain flattened the wheat and the barley and with no sun to ripen them they lay in the mud, weedbound and rotting. The rain dripped dismally into the buckets that stood about the floors of most of the rooms of Old Hall.
Jessica, whatever the weather, made a point of riding each afternoon, to get her out of the house. Sometimes she would go up to the Home Farm for a chat with Charlie, sometimes she would ride the New Hall parkland as she had done as a child, often calling in to visit her mother. Sometimes Gabriella was allowed to accompany her on these trips; the child was already showing her mother’s fearlessness and natural ability in the saddle and pestered constantly for a pony of her own.
‘Of course the child must have a pony,’ Maria said. ‘There surely must be something in the stables?’
‘I don’t know. I hardly think Giles—’
‘Fiddlesticks! What is it to do with Giles? Gabriella, my pet – ring the bell and John shall take you to the stables. Tell one of the stable lads to help you pick a pony. A small one, mind, and docile. There are two or three lazy ones out there that don’t earn their way.’
‘Thank you, Gran’mama!’ The child deposited a huge kiss upon the soft cheek. Maria winced a little at the enthusiasm of the embrace yet smiled indulgently. It never failed to astonish Jessica that her mother, who had taken little or no notice of her own children at this age, openly adored Gabriella and left to her own devices would indulge the child’s every whim.
‘You spoil her, Mother,’ she scolded, smiling. ‘You really shouldn’t, you know. I’m not sure we can afford to keep a pony just at the moment.’
‘Nonsense.’ Maria, as had become her habit, massaged one painful hand with the other, the dry skin rustling. It worried Jessica that her mother’s condition seemed to be worsening rapidly. Certainly the damp weather did not help. Maria eyed her a little slyly. ‘Anyway – what’s this I hear about you coming into a fortune?’
Jessica was startled. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The gossip is that you’re playing the pirate with Old Hall’s library—?’
‘Oh, Lord! Has everyone heard?’ Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘It’s hardly going to be a fortune, Mother. And believe me, I hate to let them go. But we’re desperate, and the old house needs the money more than it needs the books. So yes, we’re selling some of them at auction in November. With a bit of luck they’ll make enough to get us back on our feet. Needs must when the devil pushes, as they say.’ She stood up. ‘We’d better be getting back.
I don’t like to leave Mother Sarah for too long alone. That little Janet does have a tendency to drop off at the oddest moments – I sometimes suspect that Mrs Williams’ scurrilous suspicions are right, and she has a secret gin bottle somewhere! – and unattended there’s no knowing where Mother Sarah might end up.’ She sighed, softly. ‘It’s so sad. She spends the whole time looking for Robert’s father. She’s convinced he’s there somewhere – talks all the time as if he’s just going to walk in from the garden.’
Maria lifted her cheek for her daughter’s kiss, patted her hand. ‘Come to supper tomorrow night, my dear. Both of you. Patrick’s coming home for the summer. I know he’d love to see you. He finds it dull indeed, I fear, closeted here with no one but a rheumatic old lady for company.’
Jessica laughed. ‘I’m sure that isn’t true, but if you’d like us to, then yes, of course we’ll come. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen Patrick. He must be very changed? He’s – what? – sixteen—?’
‘Nearly seventeen.’ Maria’s face and voice were strangely sober, ‘And as handsome a lad as you’ll ever see. The very image of his father.’
‘He’s doing well at Harrow?’ asked Jessica.
Her mother gave a small, sharp bark of laughter, and flinched at the pain it caused her. ‘Well? Good heavens, no! Not if you mean academically, that is. They haven’t been able to hammer the first principles of learning into his head! I believe they have despaired of him and left him to his lazy ways. But he’s played cricket for the school and is wildly popular, according to his tutor. That seems to be enough both for him and for them.’
‘He’s happy then?’
‘Oh yes. He’s happy.’ Maria seemed about to add something, but did not.
Jessica eyed her curiously. ‘Nothing’s wrong?’
Maria shook her head firmly. ‘Wrong? Silly child, whatever could be wrong? The boy’s a little wild, that’s all. He made some rather odd friends a year or so ago, and got himself into a scrape from which it cost me a considerable amount to extricate him.’ She held up a quick finger, ‘Not a word to anyone about that, mind. The boy has turned over a new leaf. He gave me his solemn word, and I believe him. There’s nothing wrong with Patrick that a few more months of growing up won’t put right. He’s a splendid boy.’
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