by Mary Brendan
‘He isn’t calling until next week. I’ll take the chops with the kidneys in them, please. Those will go nicely with fresh beans from the garden and some baked potatoes.’
‘Of course, Miss Shawcross. I’ll have the boy deliver the usual order and two extra chops on Thursday.’
Outside the shop Faye paused, giving herself a talking to. Mr Bullman was a good soul and she was being too sensitive because of her guilt and regrets over allowing Mr Westwood free rein with her money. She glanced back into the shop and saw the butcher deep in conversation with his wife. There was nothing unusual about that, but the way the couple darted surreptitious glances her way caused Faye’s heart to sink. She sighed and walked on. So, news of her losses had circulated, but she wouldn’t answer questions about it.
A few minutes later she had changed her mind. Her friend Anne Holly hailed her, trotting over the rutted road to her side.
‘Oh, my dear, how are you?’ Anne hugged Faye. ‘Is it true you’ve suffered a setback?’
‘How did you find out, Anne?’ Faye huffed a resigned little laugh. ‘Tongues are wagging, are they?’
‘Not maliciously, I assure you; people are sympathetic and Mr Westwood has come in for some very harsh criticism,’ Anne said gently. ‘He has scuttled off quickly back to London.’
‘I’d sooner people let the matter drop. Westwood will only prolong the gossip in defending his part in it all. Who spread the news?’
‘I imagine it came from Westwood’s office. I know the verger and several others travel to London and use that particular firm.’
Faye gave a faintly acid smile. ‘I hadn’t imagined it would happen so soon.’
‘Derek was going to come over and see you this afternoon to condole, but I’ve persuaded him not to.’
‘Thank you...’ Faye said wryly. ‘I will be less prickly about it in a day or two. I feel a fool for wanting to earn more than the bank paid while my money was safe in a vault.’
‘Any person would seek the best return on a deposit,’ Anne protested. ‘You have your brother and sister depending on you so you need to be astute.’
‘I don’t mind providing for them.’
‘Well, if it were me, I’d mind their mother shirking her duty so abominably.’ Anne frowned an apology, knowing she’d said too much.
Faye was niggled by her friend’s comment despite recognising the truth in what Anne had said. Not wanting to bicker, she changed the subject. ‘We’re going to the fairground this afternoon, so your husband would not have found us in. Are you going to come? You’re welcome to join us in eating buns and throwing balls at skittles.’
‘I’d like to, but Derek’s mother has arrived on a visit with his sister and his niece. Sarah is a nice girl, a little older than your Claire, I’d say. She’s making her come out in the spring. The family is well connected; they know some of the ton’s hostesses. My mother-in-law is friendly with Lady Jersey, you know.’ Anne sounded proud.
‘As Claire is coming out next year, too, perhaps the girls could get together before Sarah returns to Essex.’
‘I’m sure she’d like that...’ Anne’s enthusiastic response tailed away and her eyes narrowed on something over Faye’s shoulder. ‘Now there are some people who really have started tongues wagging,’ she whispered. ‘I have heard tales about him that would make your hair stand on end.’
Discreetly, Faye glanced around. A sleek curricle drawn by matching greys had stopped by the drapery shop. The tiger took the reins while the driver jumped down and helped his passenger alight.
‘Who is that?’ The town of Wilverton was off the beaten track for high society and the handsome couple looked to be top notch.
‘That, my dear, is the new master of Valeside Manor.’ Anne inclined closer to her friend to murmur, ‘And the young woman with him is rumoured to be his paramour.’
Faye looked suitably shocked. ‘Well, she is very pretty...if barely out of her governess’s care by the look of her.’ She peeked again at the slender young lady, her raven hair cascading in ringlets to her shoulders. Even at some distance, Faye could tell that her summer gown was of exquisite style. And she was very possessive of her beau, judging by the way she clung to his arm. But the gentleman was watching her and appeared amused by her interest. Quickly Faye averted her face, regretting having stared for so long.
‘He is a bachelor named Ryan Kavanagh and he’s Irish, but nobody is sure of the lady’s identity.’ Anne shielded her moving lips with her gloved fingers. ‘Apparently he has a mistress each end of London, who both drip jewels and drive about in swish carriages.’
‘He is a wealthy fellow then.’ Faye still felt warm from having the stranger’s mocking eyes on her.
‘Indeed, he is. A rich reprobate, Derek’s mother called him.’ Anne tilted her head at the newcomers. ‘That young lady actually lives with him, you know, at the Manor.’ The shocking information was ejected in a hiss.
Faye’s small teeth nipped her lower lip, suppressing a scandalised laugh. ‘Perhaps I should be grateful to Mr Kavanagh: in comparison to his affairs my sorry business barely merits a mention.’
The couple had entered the shop and Faye clasped her friend’s hands in farewell. ‘I must get home and freshen up and change my shoes for the trek over the fields.’
‘Does your fiancé know of your bad news?’ Anne asked hesitantly.
‘He does not... Peter has docked at Portsmouth, but he is not due to visit for a week or so.’ Faye imagined her seafaring future husband would take it very personally, knowing that the lawyer he had recommended had failed her. But Peter had only done what he thought best.
With a wave, Faye set off back the way she had come. As she passed the dusty curricle the smartly uniformed tiger gave her a polite nod. Faye ran her eyes over the fine horseflesh, then speeded up her pace towards home. For some reason she didn’t want to see Mr Kavanagh and his concubine again. She felt a little frisson pass over her. She regretted having humoured the man by staring at him in such a vulgar fashion.
Once out of sight of townsfolk, Faye grabbed her skirts and began to trot along the meadow path, feeling quite joyous as she concentrated on the treat of an afternoon spent at the fair on such a glorious afternoon. The ground beneath her flying feet had been worn in places to bare soil where the locals took short cuts to and from their cottages on the outskirts of Wilverton.
Having spied Mulberry House rising on the horizon, Faye slowed down to appreciate her pretty home and relieve the stitch in her side. It was a whitewashed building topped with russet-coloured clay tiles and the sturdy iron porch was smothered with scarlet roses that had climbed as far as the eaves. Cecil Shawcross had always loved his abundantly planted garden and the scented blooms that rambled on the front of the house and spilled over the trellises to the rear of the property had been his pride and joy.
Her eyes prickled with tears as she thought about him. Her half-siblings missed their father, too, but being younger had not had the benefit of his company for as long as she had when he passed away. Her father could be a difficult man; without a doubt he would be angry that part of his bequest had disappeared in a poor investment. But it would be towards Peter Collins that he’d unleash his temper. Peter had proposed to her when she was twenty-one, but another two years had passed before her father eventually agreed to the match. It had been a sadness to her that her father and her fiancé had never really got on.
Drawing in a deep breath, she set off again, trotting towards the side gate that led through the kitchen garden and into the house.
Chapter Two
‘Ah, so you’re back at last.’ Mrs Gideon frowned as her rosy-cheeked mistress entered the kitchen. She put down on the floury table the pastry cutter she’d been using. ‘I can see you’ve been dashing about again.’ She poured a glass of lemonade from a metal jug. ‘That’ll h
elp cool you off.’
Gratefully Faye took the tumbler, closing her eyes while relishing the refreshing brew. ‘I have been running, and indeed it wasn’t wise. It is very sultry today...perhaps a storm is on its way.’ Faye brushed a hand beneath the damp blonde curls clinging to her nape.
‘There’s some warm water in the kettle for a wash.’ Mrs Gideon filled a copper pitcher, then found a muslin cloth in a drawer. ‘Your sister is still unpicking her stitching, so I reckon you’ve time enough to take a bath waiting for her to be satisfied with prettifying that hat.’ The woman tutted. ‘Miss Claire’s had that piece of blue ribbon on and off the straw at least thrice.’
Faye took another sip of lemonade, intending to take the drink upstairs with her and finish it while she changed her clothes.
‘Did anybody upset you while you were in town, miss?’
Faye turned back to see Mrs Gideon looking quite severe while forcefully rolling out pastry.
‘Everybody was very polite, Mrs Gideon.’ Faye gave a faint smile. ‘Not a word spoken out of place by the shopkeepers, but I saw Anne Holly and she was kind enough to be blunt and tell me people know what has happened.’ Untying her bonnet, she let it hang on its ribbons, then forked her fingers through her thick blonde tresses. So far Mr and Mrs Gideon had kept their own counsel on the business with Westwood; Faye feared they were too kind and loyal to openly say what they must privately be thinking: that her father would be spinning in his grave at her ineptitude with his money. If the couple were concerned over their employment at Mulberry House since she’d made losses, they’d not brought it up.
‘I meant to say, Mrs Gideon, that I haven’t come to such a sorry pass that I cannot afford to keep you on.’
‘Oh, I know, Miss Shawcross.’ The housekeeper’s eyes held a sheen of tears. ‘And much as I want to say I’d keep coming every day if you paid me or not, I won’t upset you by doing it.’ Nelly Gideon wiped her eyes on her rolled-up sleeve. ‘Neither will Mr Gideon, but we wanted to let you know that we won’t hear a word against you or the children.’
‘I know I can rely on you both,’ Faye said huskily.
Mrs Gideon nodded vigorously and set about cutting pastry cases.
Faye suddenly remembered something that might lighten the atmosphere; Mrs Gideon was frowning fiercely while running the rolling pin this way and that.
‘Anne Holly told me that Valeside Manor has acquired a new owner.’
‘Him!’ The housekeeper gave a loud tut. ‘A vicar’s wife had no right bringing that fellow into a decent conversation.’
‘You knew about Mr Kavanagh and his lady friend being at Valeside Manor?’ Faye sounded surprised.
‘Indeed, I did! I hope he’ll soon take himself off to London where the likes of him and her are sure to be better received.’ Mrs Gideon returned her attention to the tartlets she was filling with blackcurrants. ‘What with those Romanies turning up as well we’ve got more than our fair share of rogues in the neighbourhood lately.’
Faye remained quiet for a moment. From her housekeeper’s strong reaction she took it that her friend Anne had not overstated Mr Kavanagh’s ill repute.
‘Apparently he is very affluent. Local people might benefit from his patronage.’ Faye felt an odd compulsion to find something good to say about the new master of Valeside. ‘The manor has been empty for quite some time, it’s sure to need repairs and additional staff. Mr Kavanagh might call on villagers to fill vacancies.’
‘No decent woman would enter that house no matter what pay he offered. The only females likely to benefit from his patronage are those working in the room above the Dog and Duck.’ The housekeeper turned florid, regretting having let her tongue run away with her.
Faye picked up her lemonade and took a gulp. She knew that a couple of harlots entertained clients above the taproom in the Dog and Duck. The hostelry was situated on the outskirts of Wilverton and was shunned by decent folk who supped in the White Hart tavern on the green instead.
Still, Faye felt an odd inclination to give the benefit of the doubt to Mr Kavanagh. ‘He had a very well-behaved team of horses and his servant was nicely turned out, and polite, too. The boy made a point of raising his hat to me as I passed by.’
‘You managed to get quite a good long look at Mr Kavanagh, did you, miss?’ Nelly Gideon asked. ‘Did you see the scar on his face?’
‘He was too far away for me to see more than that he is a tall gentleman with very dark hair. I was talking to Anne across the road and he’d disappeared inside the drapery with his companion by the time I passed his curricle.’
Nelly put down a spoon stained with blackcurrant juice. ‘Got a scar from here to here, he has...’ She striped one side of her face from cheekbone to lip with a forefinger. ‘Duelling over a woman, so I heard. Killed a man.’ She shook her head. ‘It makes me wonder what else might yet come out about his wickedness.’
Faye’s eyes widened, but still she was reluctant to condemn too quickly. Today she’d had a taste of what it was like to be the butt of gossip and it wasn’t pleasant. Despite what her friend Anne Holly had said about people’s sympathy for her, there would doubtless be some private sniggering at her lack of judgement.
‘You’d better keep your distance from the new master of Valeside Manor, miss,’ Nelly said over a shoulder, sliding the tarts into the oven. ‘Your fiancé won’t want you associating with such a rogue.’
‘Who is a rogue?’ Claire had just entered the kitchen, eyes alight with interest at what she’d overheard.
‘The new master of Valeside Manor,’ Mrs Gideon informed darkly. ‘Big handsome chap Mr Kavanagh may be, but he’s got a black heart, so you all stay clear of that place.’
‘Show me your hat then.’ Faye changed the subject, thinking Mr Kavanagh had been a topic of conversation for long enough.
‘What do you think?’ Claire held aloft the bonnet, twirling it on her fingers so the blue ribbons flew out like flags.
‘Very pretty...’ Faye said, picking up the jug of washing water. ‘I won’t be long getting ready, then we’ll get going. A storm’s brewing for this evening and we won’t want to be out in the thunder and lightning.’
* * *
Walking through long, murmuring grass with the warmth of late June on one’s shoulders was one of life’s wonderful pleasures, Faye thought as she picked seeds from her cotton skirts. She watched her brother and sister, chasing to and fro and throwing grassy darts at one another. Faye smiled wryly; her sister was still a child at heart and it was a shame to think of hurrying her to womanhood with a premature debut.
Claire wouldn’t be seventeen until the middle of next year. She’d already said she was eager to be launched before her next birthday rather than wait until the following Season. Faye had worried that her half-sister might not be ready for such an important milestone at sixteen. But things had changed for them all. She could no longer afford to be so finicky.
Faye was obliged to tighten the purse strings on the family kitty and there was no denying that Claire might be better off now under a husband’s protection than her sister’s.
Turning her face up to the golden sunbeams, Faye sighed, loosening her straw bonnet to let the breeze cool her skin. It was easy to feel lulled by the pastoral melody of birdsong and bees swarming nearby.
‘That man’s staring at you. Who is he?’
Faye’s eyes flicked open and she saw her brother, flushed from his game of chase, ambling at her side.
‘His name is Mr Kavanagh,’ Faye said hoarsely, feeling rather shocked to see him again so soon. And at much closer quarters. Mrs Gideon had called him a big handsome man, and indeed he was broad of shoulder and very good looking. She could also see the thin pale mark dissecting his bronzed cheek that her housekeeper had spoken of.
‘We mustn’t have anything to do with him,’ Clai
re whispered, having joined them. ‘He’s a black-hearted rogue, Mrs Gideon said so, and she knows everything.’
‘What has he done?’ Michael asked, agog.
‘You’re not old enough to know,’ Claire replied, hoping to sound mysterious and knowledgeable.
‘Hush...that’s enough gossip.’ Faye tore her eyes away from a steady, narrowed gaze. She was quite sure that the black-hearted rogue knew they were talking about him.
‘Perhaps he’s a highwayman or a smuggler.’ Michael turned to Faye, eyes dancing with glee. ‘He might be delivering kegs of brandy at dark of night or he might be like Dick Turpin with his own Black Bess.’
‘He is probably quite an ordinary character in reality,’ Faye interrupted, attempting to dampen down Michael’s excitement. She wouldn’t put it past her half-brother to dash across the field and quiz Mr Kavanagh about his dastardly exploits. But she doubted that her description of the man as ordinary was any more valid than were her brother’s fanciful imaginings. Ryan Kavanagh might not be a model villain, but neither was he a tame fellow. She set a brisker pace, hoping the children would run ahead again and forget about their intriguing new neighbour.
‘He must be rich,’ Michael said, content to dawdle. He glanced over a shoulder at the fellow propped against an oak with a magnificent black stallion tethered to a branch by his side. ‘He has a fine horse.’ He frowned. ‘I remember Papa had a similar beast.’
‘He is a beast...’ Claire hissed, determined to shock her younger brother.
‘For goodness sake, turn around and stop staring, you two. Look...there’s a juggler.’ Faye distracted Michael’s attention to the harlequin entertaining a group of youngsters.
They were now close to the fairground and the noise and appetising aromas caused the children to finally lose interest in Mr Kavanagh. But Faye had not. The need to take a peep over her shoulder was undeniable. He had sunk down to the grass with his back against the tree, one knee raised and supporting an elbow. He was smoking a cheroot, she realised as a faint scent of tobacco reached her on the breeze. He turned his head in her direction and Faye quickly whipped her face away, not wanting him to catch her staring at him for the second time that day.
