‘By gum, Lizzie,’ she said to the bewildered child. ‘I wonder who she was. Who Edward’s mother was? She was either daft or had plenty of her own money to leave all this behind. She must have been one of the la-di-dah women he likes so much.’
Chapter Nineteen
They drew up the partnership deeds two months before Albert’s wedding. Now Wainwright and Billington was jointly owned, and Oliver could use his inheritance to purchase shares and property.
First, he dealt with the allowances to Laura Mawdesley and Florence. He was generous. The fund he set up for them would bring in a lot more than the thousand a year Bill had provided under the terms of the will. The Mawdesleys would benefit from his astuteness to the tune of an extra five hundred pounds a year. It need not be administered by him as it had previously been. Correspondence between their lawyers and annual signing would no longer be necessary. It would save Laura Mawdesley any embarrassment she might feel.
It suited Oliver to continue living at The Pheasant. It gave him more time to study the movements of the stock market and plan his investments. He gambled on the exchange occasionally, trusting his hunches, finding they seldom let him down. He purchased under several names. It was quite legitimate and ensured that a seller was unaware of the buying power of the purchaser.
Sir Philip Oldfield was selling. Shares in the Manchester Trading Company came on to the open market and Oliver bought. Land on the Suttonford estate, near to Middlefield, came into his hands.
‘You make money faster than anyone I know,’ Albert told him over supper one evening, a few weeks before his and Edith’s wedding. ‘You make it. I spend it! What drives you on? Do you think you’ll stop and start enjoying yourself when you’ve got enough?’
It was a warm May evening. They were going to eat supper in the parlour and then sit outdoors on the bench in the stable yard. Edith had sent strict instructions that their presence was unwelcome. She had last-minute things to see to.
‘I don’t have any inclination to stop, Albert. I just like to watch it growing. I’m sure I’ll spend it when the time comes but now … Well, there’s nowt to spend it on.’
Mrs Billington cleared away the plates and they took tankards and a jug of ale into the sunlit stable yard. They sat on the bench, closed their eyes and leaned against the high stone wall, letting the sun warm their faces.
‘How many guests will there be at the wedding? I’ve never made a speech before,’ Oliver said lazily. ‘Can I write it down and read it out or do I have to memorise it?’
He was making light of it but privately thought that he’d need a stiff drink or two before facing what promised to be an assembly of all the local families of importance.
‘You’d best memorise it.’ Albert poured ale into their tankards and handed one to Oliver. ‘Did you know Florence Mawdesley and her mother have accepted their invitations?’
Oliver’s tankard clattered to the ground. ‘How’ve you got them to come?’
Albert looked momentarily surprised by his reaction then could barely conceal his enjoyment at Oliver’s discomfiture. ‘What are you getting alarmed about?’ he said. ‘I thought you’d given up any aspirations towards Florence.’
‘Are you pulling my leg?’ Oliver said. His eyes narrowed as he tried to ascertain if Albert was mocking him. No, he was telling the truth. No doubt at all. They could almost read one another’s thoughts. ‘I didn’t think they were that friendly.’
‘Oh, aye. The Claytons are big noises in the church. Edith’s dad’s the treasurer of the parochial church council and her mother’s the leader of the Mothers’ Union.’
Oliver still did not see why these revelations should have any bearing on the fact that the Mawdesleys were coming to the wedding.
Albert continued proudly, ‘Edith and Florence taught Sunday school and had singing lessons at the same place. I suppose the Mawdesleys couldn’t really refuse without upsetting half the ruddy congregation.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Oliver thought privately that nothing would induce Laura Mawdesley to accept an invitation if she knew he’d be there. ‘Tell Mrs Mawdesley that I’m to be best man,’ he said, ‘and I’ll wager they don’t turn up.’
Laura wheeled her father down to the lake. Sunlight dappled the water through the branches of the trees and a slight breeze stirred it, further out, towards the little island.
Laura sighed as she pulled the long handle, securing the brake on his wheelchair. ‘I love Suttonford, Papa,’ she said. ‘I want to come home.’ She adjusted the shawl over her father’s lifeless legs. ‘Are you comfortable?’
‘Yes.’ He scanned the lake. ‘I see everything differently from this angle, though I prefer the view from a saddle.’
‘You’ve been so brave, Papa.’ Laura sounded melancholy.
‘You haven’t brought me here simply to look at the lake, Laura,’ he said impatiently. ‘My legs may be useless but my mind hasn’t followed suit. What is it?’
‘I can’t pay the servants’ salaries, Papa,’ Laura said. ‘And I owe the tradesmen money.’
‘How much do you need?’
‘Three hundred pounds,’ she confessed.
‘I sold land and some stocks last week.’ He smiled thinly and patted her hand where it lay on the basketwork arm. ‘Don’t excite yourself. You shall have it.’
‘Oh, Papa.’ Laura sniffed delicately into a handkerchief. ‘You’re so good. It won’t be for long. I’ll leave Churchgate and come home to you and mother when Florence is settled.’
‘Has she found a suitor?’ Sir Philip asked sharply. ‘She’s twenty, isn’t she? If she waits much longer nobody will have her. It’s time she was married.’
‘Oh, Papa. You’ve no idea how impossible she is.’ Laura recovered fast from her mood of self-abnegation. Now she glared out over the lake and spoke of her dissatisfaction. ‘Half the young men in the county seek her favour. She behaves as if they were idiots.’
She turned to face Sir Philip and her face was pink with annoyance. ‘Since that dreadful time after Uncle Bill died she’s never so much as looked twice at a man.’
Sir Philip eyed her inquisitively. ‘What dreadful time?’
There was a pause before Laura went on. ‘I never told you, Papa. You would have been so angry.’
‘Well?’ Sir Philip appeared to be losing patience with her. ‘Tell me now. I assume she developed a passion for someone unsuitable. Who was it?’
She ground the heel of her shoe into the short grass. ‘It was Oliver Wainwright!’ she said. ‘She had a girlish fancy for him. It was dreadful.’ Sir Philip clenched his hands tightly but Laura did not notice this sign of his anger and went on, self-pitying. ‘The child practically swooned every time she heard his name. He encouraged her. She met him in secret. It was awful! She told me that they were going to elope – that he’d asked her to marry him. She declared undying love for him. Oh, it was too distressing.’
‘And now?’
‘It’s all over,’ Laura said emphatically. ‘I’m sure of it. She has met him once or twice at Balgone. She never speaks of him. It has gone – her affection for him.’ She looked imploringly at Sir Philip. ‘But where will we find a husband for her when she’s so impossible to please?’
‘I’ll give it some thought.’ Sir Philip slapped angrily at a fly that had alighted on the shawl. ‘Let’s move from here. Push me to the yard, Laura. I’ll take a look at the horses.’
He inspected his stable and demanded that he be returned to the house in time for an appointment he had made with the lawyer.
‘Take me to the study,’ Sir Philip told Laura. ‘I have business to discuss.’
She wheeled him to the study and left him there.
‘Well, Lloyd,’ he began as soon as Laura had departed. ‘Did you find out? Who’s buying my land?’ Lloyd pulled at his side whiskers and looked uncomfortable. Sir Philip was impatient. ‘Well? I know it’s the same buyer as before. There’s no hesitation. No quibbling about price. The man just bu
ys if it belongs to the estate.’
Lloyd’s eyes left Sir Philip’s face. He looked, as usual, slightly to the right of his ear. ‘It’s Wainwright,’ he said flatly.
Sir Philip drew in his breath sharply. ‘I suspected it,’ he said at last, ‘but where’s the money coming from? The mills can’t be bringing in that kind of profit.’ He looked hard at the lawyer. ‘Can they, Lloyd? It makes my blood boil to think of it.’
‘He’s gone into partnership with his friend, Billington. Wainwright has taken his original investment, the amount he inherited – out of the mill.’ Lloyd’s glance rested for a few seconds on Sir Philip’s face. ‘It seems he’s intent upon it. Slowly but surely he’s buying you up,’ he declared.
‘Why, Lloyd?’
‘Old scores?’ Lloyd asked shrewdly.
‘Nonsense!’ Sir Philip replied sharply. ‘I’ve done no more than any man would do to protect his property.’
‘There’s something else. Something I ought not to tell you, but I think it may have some implication for you when you come to make provision for after your death.’
‘Well?’
‘Lucy Grandison has changed her will. She is leaving her house and an annuity to Laura. She’s leaving half her estate to Florence.’ Here he paused, as if afraid that the news would be too much for the old baronet. ‘The rest goes to Oliver Wainwright,’ he said.
‘Christ!’
Lloyd had never heard Sir Philip blaspheme. He looked at him anxiously. ‘There’s no possibility of her changing her mind, Sir Philip. I have no influence over her. I couldn’t use it if I had.’
‘We must get it back, Lloyd. At all costs we must get my property back.’ Sir Philip’s face was pale and set. A muscle moved at the corner of his mouth, pulling it sideways in a stiff grimace.
Lloyd went on tonelessly, ‘So you must make provision for Florence. She will inherit Suttonford. Godfrey … I’m afraid …’
‘I know, Lloyd,’ Sir Philip interrupted him angrily. ‘My son is a wastrel. Florence is the one I must consider. My granddaughter must marry.’
‘You must look to her to make a good match, Sir Philip,’ Lloyd said. ‘She must marry a man of means.’
‘She’ll marry well, Lloyd,’ Sir Philip said coldly. ‘I’ll see to it that the estate is in competent hands before I die.’
Laura was alone in her sitting room. She poured a large measure of brandy and steadied herself against the chiffonier. How had it happened? When had events taken the disastrous turn they had? Had they remained in London for another year she would have found a suitor for Florence. Sir Philip and the Wainwright creature were to blame. Father must take responsibility for the outcome; first for refusing to renew their tenure on the house in Belgravia and properly fund Florence’s debut, and second for allowing that upstart Wainwright to have access to her.
If Father had had Florence’s welfare at heart he’d have refused them this Middlefield house; he’d have insisted on their living at Suttonford and he’d have made her marry a boy of good family.
Remembering yesterday’s scene with her father Laura dabbed her brow with the cuff of her sleeve and rapidly drained the glass.
‘There’s nothing for it, Laura,’ Sir Philip had told her when Lloyd had gone and they were alone. His face, normally tender in her presence, had taken on the hard expression she knew so well. No amount of cajoling would get him to change his mind. Florence took after her grandfather in his inflexibility.
‘How can you, Papa?’ she’d protested. ‘Do you have no feeling for me – or for Florence? She cannot marry a vile, low-born peasant.’
‘Oliver Wainwright hardly fits your description. He is of low birth but he has risen above it.’
‘Six years ago, Papa, he was a farm labourer. One of your own workers,’ she’d snapped in anger. ‘It is not enough that Lucy has given him a superficial air of gentility and that he has a little money!’
‘He has a lot of money, Laura. And most of it is rightfully ours. Wainwright has enough to save the estate and maintain our standards.’ Her father had risen to her own fury. ‘And, what is more, he wants to be custodian of Suttonford. He’s bought every parcel of land I’ve sold and every wretched hovel on it. He’ll not tire of it. If he wants Florence for a wife you will see to it that she welcomes him. Without Wainwright’s money we are done for.’
Laura rallied. ‘He may not wish to marry Florence. A man of his type would prefer a coarser woman. An actress or …’
‘Enough, Laura! Speak to Florence. Tell her that Wainwright is welcome to call.’
Albert’s wedding day dawned clear and hot. It was set to be a real ‘scorcher’ Oliver thought when he opened his eyes and found that his head ached from too much wine the night before. There were dozens of little Billingtons from all over the country staying at The Pheasant and it seemed to Oliver that they were all running around outside his door.
He groaned as he heard Leonard Billington calling, ‘Oliver! Albert! Come on, you two. Breakfast’s ready.’ He was going to make the most of his role today. Oliver dragged himself from bed. ‘The barber’ll be here in a minute. I want you two done first,’ Leonard added, noisily.
The wedding was set for midday and as the hour drew near Albert and Oliver left The Pheasant and walked together up Rivergate to the little park behind the Town Hall. Sparrow Park was hardly a park, just a few square yards of grass, five or six trees and a bench seat. But the view was spectacular, so high above the cattle market. Trains pulled out of the station and disappeared in a cloud of steam through the tunnel, only to reappear a mile away, like toys crossing the Cheshire plain.
‘Nervous?’ Oliver asked.
‘A bit. I’ll be all right when the church part’s over. How about you?’
‘I’ll be happy when the speech is over!’ Oliver put an arm around Albert’s shoulders for a second. They had never been demonstrative; there was no need for declarations of friendship and support between them. It was there and they knew it. He gave Albert a shove and grinned. ‘Come on! Let’s get round to the church,’ he said. ‘The bells are starting up.’
A crowd had gathered in the market place to watch the wedding parties arrive and the bells were pealing out joyfully above their heads as they entered the church and took their seats.
Murmurings behind them grew in volume as guests entered the pews. Oliver turned his head and saw that the church was full. Florence and her mother were seated at the opposite side of the aisle, a little further back. She wore a dress of pale blue satin, gathered into her waist, bustled and trimmed in white pleated silk. She caught his eye and smiled.
Heavy doors were being pulled back, and the congregation fell silent as the organist swelled the background music in the waiting church to a resounding anthem. Oliver and Albert turned to watch the bride approach on her father’s arm.
Edith’s auburn hair was taken up under a circle of pale yellow roses. A veil of cream lace fell around her shoulders. Her dress was made of filmy white silk, with pearls at the high neckline and the deep point in front of her tiny waist.
Albert, normally debonair, seemed about to be overcome by the momentous occasion and Oliver had to grip his elbow and steer him forward to stand beside his bride.
Oliver was acutely conscious of the presence of Florence and her mother all through the ceremony. He wanted to turn around, to catch her eyes on him as Albert and Edith made their vows.
He gave the bridesmaid his arm as they followed the bride and groom out into the sunlight. Now, as he passed Florence he gave a self-conscious smile. It was a feature of her beauty, he thought, that her grey eyes reflected the colour of her clothes, so that today her eyes were like the summer sky outside. He could not help but think back to the days of his innocence when he had had the effrontery to demand that they be allowed to marry. Did she remember it? Was she thinking, as he was, that Albert and Edith might never have met but for them?
The crowd in the market square made a pathway for the wedding group
as they crossed the square to The Swan, calling out good wishes to the couple as they covered the few yards to Edith’s old home.
A wedding breakfast was set in the marquee tent behind the house and there Mr and Mrs Clayton and the Billingtons received their guests with Albert and Edith relaxed and happy beside them.
Oliver drank three glasses of champagne as the toasts were being drunk. He had rehearsed his speech so many times that, his agitation calmed by the champagne, he simply stood up and recited it without a tremor.
Now, at last, his duties were over and he could mingle with the guests. Most of the town’s dignitaries were there, many of Middlefield’s wealthy merchant families had been invited and Oliver moved easily amongst them, respected and accepted in their midst.
To his surprise Laura Mawdesley appeared quite unconcerned to find Oliver in attendance as Albert’s best man. She spoke to him as though they had never had even a difference of opinion. ‘Your friend and his bride make a lovely couple, Mr Wainwright,’ she said as Oliver approached their table.
‘They do. Will you be at the ball this evening?’ he replied in his most formal manner.
‘Yes. I expect you to ask Florence and me to dance,’ Laura said.
What was the woman saying? Her eyes still held their look of cold dislike for him and yet her manner was almost flirtatious. Oliver didn’t let a trace of the astonishment he felt at her response appear in his face as he smiled back and nodded his head in acquiescence. Had the sun and the wine so affected her? Was she so sure that no danger remained in allowing himself and Florence to meet socially? He glanced at Florence and saw that she was blushing.
‘Mama. Let us go and speak to Mr and Mrs Clayton.’ Florence sounded agitated. ‘We have barely had a word with them the whole afternoon. Excuse us, Oliver.’
The Runaway Page 24
