The Letter

by Ruth Saberton

  The walk back was uphill but, buoyed by happiness, Daisy scarcely noticed the incline. Her limp was almost gone now and the muscles in her legs had been strengthened by weeks of climbing up the cliffs and swimming in the cove. When she peered into the speckled looking-glass, she hardly recognised the reflection that stared out at her. Who was this girl with roses in her cheeks, a sprinkling of freckles on her nose and sparkling eyes? She didn’t resemble the thin and hollow-cheeked shadow who’d left the sanatorium only three months before. She was different in every way.

  Her head full of Kit and their secret engagement, Daisy floated up the path to the Rectory and came tumbling down to earth when she saw that Mrs Polmartin was waiting for her on the doorstep with a stony expression.

  “About time too, Miss! The Reverend wants to see you in his study,” she said, taking Daisy’s basket and holding out her hands for her hat. “He’s been waiting over an hour for you to return and you know how he hates to be kept waiting.”

  Daisy did indeed and her bubble of happiness popped. What was this about? Her godfather rarely saw her in the daytime if he could help it.

  “Did he say what he wanted?” she asked, undoing the ribbon on her straw hat and hoping that her hair wasn’t too messy; Kit wasn’t much use when it came to pinning it back up. She prayed there were no telltale grass stains on her skirt either.

  But the housekeeper was too busy shepherding Daisy down the corridor to worry about Daisy’s dress. The stiff set of Mrs Polmartin’s shoulders and the pursed mouth that resembled a cat’s bottom didn’t bode well. By the time she arrived at the Reverend’s study, Daisy felt quite sick. What was this about? Dredging up her courage, she knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” barked her godfather, and Daisy stepped into a dark panelled room, the walls of which were lined with books. Even on this summer’s day a fire blazed in the grate.

  “You wanted to see me, Godfather?” she asked, amazed that her voice sounded even.

  The Reverend Cutwell was seated at his desk and didn’t speak for a moment. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger until the flesh glowed ghostly white and his shallow breathing steadied. He was fighting for control, Daisy realised, and she knew why.

  He’d found out about her and Kit. Somehow they’d been discovered.

  Daisy waited for her godfather to ask her to sit down, but the invitation was not forthcoming. He glowered at her from behind his desk, reminding Daisy uncomfortably of the headmistress at her old day school. She hoped he wasn’t about to reach for the ruler and tell her to hold out her hand.

  “Something most unfortunate has come to my attention,” he said finally. “Something I would hope is untrue.”

  He paused. A log shifted in the grate, sending a fantail of hellish embers up the flue. The combination of heat and tension made sweat break out between her shoulder blades.

  “Tell me, have you been consorting with Christopher Rivers?”

  His question threw Daisy momentarily, until she remembered that Christopher was Kit’s real name. Her brain scrabbled for an answer.

  “Consorting?” she said. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

  “You know very well what it means!” Reverend Cutwell barked. His eyes bulged and a vein throbbed in his temple, a fat blue worm of fury. “Have you been partaking in illicit meetings with Mr Rivers? Have you betrayed my trust?”

  Daisy stared at him, aghast. Put this way, her cherished times with Kit sounded sordid and shameful.

  “I assume your silence is an admission of guilt,” her godfather said tightly. His entire face was white apart from two spots of high colour on his cheekbones. “Don’t deny it. You were seen together and your unseemly conduct was brought, quite rightly, to my attention. The young man who came to speak to me was most concerned for your reputation.”

  Dickon, thought Daisy bitterly. He must have been spying on her and biding his time. Gem had been right: he was a dangerous person to cross. How much did he know? What had he seen? What exactly had he said? Did Kit’s family know? For an awful moment she feared she would be sick. The clock on the mantelpiece seemed to tick more slowly and twice as loudly.

  “Have you nothing to say?”

  Daisy gathered her nerves together. There was nothing to be ashamed of. She had done nothing wrong. Why, Kit had just proposed! They were to be married. This thought was all Daisy needed to be brave and she raised her chin.

  “Yes, Kit Rivers and I are friends. We discuss poetry and his writing, Godfather, and we walk together. His intentions are entirely honourable.”

  The worm-like vein wiggled. “Have you no shame?”

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve done nothing improper or wrong.” Daisy’s hands, tucked in the folds of her dress, bunched into fists as she fought to keep calm. “Kit has been nothing but a gentleman. In fact, he’s asked me to marry him and I’ve agreed. We are engaged to be married.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath at her revelation and the Reverend’s mouth fell open.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Daisy hadn’t meant to say anything about the engagement; it was a delicious secret that she’d wanted to hold close, to dream about and to explore in her diary before facing the reality of announcing it. Being Kit’s fiancée was new and precious and untainted and Daisy had hoped to keep it that way, but her godfather’s harsh words had been too much to bear.

  “Kit Rivers and I are engaged to be married,” Daisy repeated. The words sounded strange and wonderful and she saw again Kit’s beautiful smile as he wrapped the daisy chain around her finger. “We’re going to be married as soon as he’s spoken to Papa.”

  “You most certainly are not engaged, you silly, foolish girl! What have you done? What have you given that young man in return for his empty promises? Have you compromised your honour?”

  “No!” Daisy cried. “Of course not! We’re getting married and Kit would never—”

  “That young man has absolutely no intention of marrying you, no matter what he might say!” roared Reverend Cutwell. “He’s led you into a fool’s paradise because his parents would never allow such a thing. Marriage to you is out of the question.”

  There was no colour whatsoever in her godfather’s face now. He was as white as the sermon pages spread out on his desk.

  Daisy’s own face was flaming at his assumption of loose morals.

  “I have done nothing wrong!” she flared. “Kit and I love each other and we want to be married.”

  “Love!” spluttered the Reverend Cutwell. “Love! Love does not come into marriage for the likes of Christopher Rivers. Duty and family and position come first – and none of those, young lady, are related to any dealings he may have had with you. He doesn’t come into his majority for three more years and, even then, his parents would never countenance such a thing.”

  Daisy knew this. Kit had already mentioned it as they’d climbed the cliff path, slowly because their hands were entwined and they’d been unable to stop kissing every few steps…

  “I’m not expecting you to elope with me or anything improper,” Kit had said softly, brushing her curls away and dropping another kiss onto her upturned face. “I’ll do whatever I can to offer you some kind of a future. I’ll get a job, save some money and then we’ll get married properly, with or without my parents’ blessing. It may take a few years, though. Do you think you can wait that long?”

  Daisy had risen onto her tiptoes and kissed him back. “I would wait forever for you.”

  She meant it too. There would never be another for her.

  “You had better forget all about this ridiculous infatuation and return to London at once, where maybe your father can talk some sense into you,” her godfather was saying now, his angry tones battering into her reminiscences. “It’s high time you sought gainful employment. Your father has indulged you far too much in my opinion. It does no good to allow a woman ideas above her place. He was the same with M
arie. Small wonder she had such peculiar notions.”

  Hearing her mother’s name jolted Daisy and also gave her courage. Her clever and fiery mama would not have stood here in silence and allowed herself to be browbeaten.

  “Kit and I are aware of the difficulties and we’re prepared to wait,” she said quietly. “Whether I am here or in London, it will make little difference to my feelings.”

  Her godfather regarded her for a moment. “No, I imagine not,” he said at last. “However, I think you’ll feel very differently when you realise you’ve been taken for a fool and that the young man in question has never had any intention of behaving honourably towards you. Yes, I do believe you’ll see circumstances rather differently then.”

  Daisy frowned. There was something about the quiet certainty of the Reverend’s words that made her falter.

  “What do you mean?”

  Reverend Cutwell reached for his spectacles and, sliding them off, gazed at her with weary eyes.

  “I mean that Christopher Rivers has been taking advantage of your naivety, you silly, silly girl! He has no serious intentions towards you. How can he have when he’s already engaged to be married?”

  Chapter 8

  Daisy, July 1914

  Daisy hadn’t believed Reverend Cutwell. He was trying to upset her, she decided as she fled his study. Kit would never lie about something so important. He was honourable and true. He wouldn’t dream of proposing to her if he was already engaged. It was preposterous! She would find him and tell him what her godfather had said and then Kit would hold her close and tell her that he loved her, because these were all lies. Already she felt better. She would cycle to the Manor at once and talk to Kit. She’d find a way to see him and all would be well.

  But as soon as Daisy reached the kitchen, Nancy dashed this hope.

  “Oh, Miss Daisy, I’m so sorry!” she said before Daisy could even draw breath to ask about borrowing the bicycle. “I wasn’t listening at doors, I promise, but our Sal works at the Manor and she told Ma about Mr Kit and you. I would never have thought it! And him matched to Emily Pendennys practically from the cradle. What a to-do!”

  Daisy had the sensation of her blood draining from her limbs. The kitchen, already hot with boiling pans, began to swim around her and she had to clutch the table.

  “You would never have thought it of him. Young Dickon, maybe, but not Mr Kit,” Mrs Polmartin agreed, shaking her head sadly.

  “Thought what of him?” Daisy demanded. There was a whooshing in her ears, above the background sound of the pans bubbling on the hob. She couldn’t believe that everyone was talking this way. Dickon had certainly done a good job of spreading his poison.

  “Thought that Mr Kit would take advantage of a lass,” tutted the housekeeper.

  Daisy rounded on her. “He never took advantage of me. Kit’s a gentleman.”

  “Yes, he is, and that’s exactly why he should never have led you up the garden path. Gentry don’t marry beneath them, no matter how pretty a girl or how much book learning she has. They stick with their own kind. That’s how it is,” Mrs Polmartin retorted.

  Daisy wanted to scream.

  “He is handsome though,” sighed Nancy. “He’d turn any girl’s head, with his poems and his sweet-talking ways. All the secret meetings must have been so romantic.”

  “Don’t be so ridiculous! Get back to your work,” snapped Mrs Polmartin, but Nancy ignored her.

  “You never breathed a word, Miss!” Nancy exclaimed. “If you’d have said something I would have told you to stay away from Mr Kit and I would have warned you to be on your guard with Dickon. I wouldn’t have let him cause you both so much trouble.”

  “Kit’s in trouble?”

  Nancy nodded. “There’ll be hell up at the Manor. Our Sally says she wouldn’t be surprised if the Colonel takes a strap to him. He’s livid.”

  “That’s enough of your gossiping about your betters, my girl!” Mrs Polmartin said sharply. “Get on with draining those potatoes! Unless you want to look for another position?”

  Daisy made an excuse to leave and raced into the privy to throw up. She wasn’t sure quite what shocked her more: the idea of Kit’s father hitting him or discovering that Kit was engaged to another girl. Everyone knew this except her, it seemed, and she felt stupid and betrayed. Had it all been a game to him? Had she got him wrong?

  No. It wasn’t possible. Daisy’s love for Kit was the most real and precious experience of her life. To have it snatched away so suddenly left her floundering and lost. She believed him when he said he loved her. There had to be an explanation. Kit wouldn’t do this to her. He loved her. She knew he did. She just had to talk to him.

  But unfortunately Daisy’s godfather wasn’t inclined to let her out of his sight now, which made seeking Kit an impossibility. Instead, Daisy spent the rest of the evening mending bed linen under the beady eye of Mrs Polmartin, and then she was treated to another stern lecture from Reverend Cutwell. He had been to visit Kit’s parents and on his return he made Daisy’s position very clear. If she wished to remain at the Rectory, and not to have her father involved, then she must stay well away from Kit Rivers. Unless Kit was willing to be disinherited, he would have to marry a girl of whom his parents approved and keep away from Daisy. Emily Pendennys was a suitable match and apparently one that had been unofficially agreed between the families for many years. The Colonel also swore that Kit’s hopes of Oxford would be over if he persisted with the foolish idea of marrying beneath him. This tore Daisy into pieces because she knew how much Kit longed to study and how much his poetry meant to him. He was fiercely talented and had a glittering future ahead; how could she be responsible for denying him this?

  She couldn’t ruin Kit’s life. Daisy loved him far too much.

  “Have I made myself clear?” the Reverend asked her. “If you insist on pursuing this ridiculous and utterly unsuitable infatuation, then Christopher’s parents will cut him off without a penny. If you care for the boy at all, you must promise not to continue seeing him – and then we can leave the matter there and your father need not be troubled with it.”

  Her godfather would probably prefer not to confess to her father that she’d been able to meet a young man in secret while she was in his care, Daisy realised; he certainly looked relieved when she agreed not to see Kit again. It was fortunate that the Reverend Cutwell couldn’t see her fingers crossed behind her back. Daisy was confused, and she felt hurt, but she wasn’t prepared to give up on Kit or be bullied into walking away. Until she’d spoken to Kit and heard his version of events, Daisy was determined not to give in.

  Quite how she would manage to find Kit was another matter. Her godfather had declared that saltwater swimming and walking out alone were now banned. Henceforth, Daisy was to be accompanied by Nancy (when they could spare her) or confined to reading edifying sermons in the study and helping about the house. The very thought was unbearable. How would she be able to find Kit and speak to him now? She would be like a prisoner.

  That night, once the moon had risen and stars freckled the sky, Daisy lay in bed with tears sliding silently from the sides of her eyes and soaking into her pillow. If it was true that Kit was already engaged then her heart was broken – worse than broken, because broken suggested it could be mended. Could Kit truly have lied to her with the same mouth that had trailed kisses over the soft skin of her neck? He may as well have plunged a knife in. Nothing Daisy tried could make the pain of this betrayal go away. No amount of tears or diary writing could quell the churning despair. She felt as though she was an empty shell and Kit had taken the part that was stars and glitter and joy; without him there was nothing left apart from a terrible yawning emptiness.

  Oh, surely he hadn’t been toying with her? Kit loved her as she loved him. Daisy knew he did.

  She was staring miserably at the ceiling, afraid to fall asleep in case the dream came again, when a scrabble of pebbles on glass made her start. Uncertain at first that she hadn’t i
magined it, Daisy didn’t move until she heard the sound again. Somebody was throwing gravel at her window and taking a considerable risk in doing so, since her godfather’s bedroom was directly underneath. She kicked off her covers and padded across the floorboards to pull aside the curtains. Sure enough, a shadowy figure was beneath the cedar tree, poised to hurl the next salvo. It was dark but Daisy would have known that dear frame anywhere. Kit!

  Kit placed his finger over his lips and jerked his head in the direction of the tree. Daisy laughed out loud and then her hand flew to her mouth because she must be quiet! Snatching her shawl and shoving her bare feet into her boots, she crept down the stairs, freezing for a second as she heard her godfather’s rumbling snores, before tiptoeing past his door and slipping along the passageway to the scullery. Holding her breath and praying that the bolts on the back door wouldn’t squeak, she slid them open and then ran across the lawn to the kindly shield of the cedar tree and the shadows beneath it. In the next instant she was in Kit’s arms and pressed against the heat of his body.

  “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said, cupping her face in his hands and staring down at her as though he wanted to memorise her features for all time.

  “And I was so afraid you were engaged to somebody else,” she wept. “They said you were.”

  “Never!” said Kit fiercely. “I love you, Daisy Hills. There’s no other engagement, no matter what my father might like to believe. The Pendennys estate adjoins ours and a marriage would have been convenient for our families, but it’s all wishful thinking on their part. There’s never been any formal arrangement between me and Emily, even though our parents might have liked one. I swear it, Daisy. Emily is not my fiancée! There’s no one else for me but you. There never has been since the first moment I saw you.”

  “Nor I you,” she sobbed, and Kit pressed his lips against the crown of her head.