The Master of Stonegrave Hall

by Helen Dickson

  ‘And the cottage? When I looked in at the window it seemed empty.’

  ‘That’s because it’s been made ready for the next tenant.’

  The colour slowly drained from Victoria’s face. ‘The next tenant? Are you saying that Lord Rockford has turned us out?’

  ‘Well—not exactly.’

  ‘Then where are our things—our furniture?’

  ‘They’ve been packed up and taken to the Hall.’

  ‘But he can’t do that. The cottage is our home.’

  ‘Can you afford to keep it?’ Mrs Knowles said gently.

  ‘Of course. Father left us well provided for. How else could Mother have been able to afford to send me to the Academy?’

  Mrs Knowles clamped her jaw shut and turned away to stir a pot on the hob. How Betty had managed to send her daughter away to be educated was her business, but Mrs Knowles knew, she had always known, that there was more to it than that. ‘Well, you can see about the cottage later—when you’ve spoken to your mother. She’s the one you should be concerned about just now.’

  Victoria was silent as she absorbed what Mrs Knowles had told her, unable to believe this was happening. She thought of Lord Rockford. The details of his face remained strongly etched in her mind, along with the conviction that this man would mean something, impinge on her life in some vital way.

  ‘You are right. I must go to her,’ she said, fighting to control the wrenching anguish that was strangling her breath in her chest. She refused to think about her home just now. Her mother would explain everything. But the thought of having to face Lord Rockford again was abhorrent to her.

  ‘It’ll soon be dark and it’s a long trek over the moor to the Hall. You don’t want to be going up there at this time. There’s no telling what might happen to a lass all by herself.’

  ‘I have to, Mrs Knowles. If I leave now and get a move on I’ll be there just after dark.’

  ‘Nay, lass, I won’t hear of it. Ned’s out the back. I’ll get him to take you in the trap.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m most grateful, Mrs Knowles. It is heartening to know my mother had you. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Get along with you. What are friends for if they can’t help each other out in times of need? Now I’ll go and get Ned. The sooner you start out the better.’

  * * *

  Ned didn’t mind taking her to the Hall. Victoria had known him all her life and he’d never been one to indulge in idle chatter. She was content with this for she was happy to keep to her own thoughts on the journey to the Hall. She had never been inside, nor had she seen the master until today. As a child her playground had been the moors and she had often stood at the closed gates and looked at the house, never imagining that one day she would step inside and certainly not in circumstances such as these.

  The old Lord Rockford had been well respected. His youngest son, Nathan, was a fun-loving man who preferred his horses and country pleasures, while the oldest son, Laurence, was reputed to be a surly, arrogant individual.

  According to tales, following a broken romance some years ago, Laurence had left England and gone abroad to seek out fresh enterprises. By all accounts he had succeeded on a grand scale. It was said he owned large tracts of land in America and had a fleet of ships, with warehouses in both America and London filled with silks and spices from the east, furs from Canada and industrial machines which he sold to the woollen mills in Lancashire. His company, Rockford Enterprises, was headquartered in London. Immensely wealthy, Laurence Rockford had become one of the most powerful men in the north of England.

  When Victoria had been a small child her mother had regaled her with stories of her time at Stonegrave Hall as lady’s maid to Laurence Rockford’s mother, and often told her of the grand events that had been held there during the late master’s time. Victoria had absorbed the stories in wide-eyed wonder, reliving the fantasies in her dreams. She didn’t know what to expect when she got there, or how Lord Rockford would react when he saw her.

  The sky was darkening by the time they reached the high moor, and the upper part of the Hall set behind high walls came into view. Dark and sombre and set amid acres of gardens and lawns, it was a large, forbidding structure, a gentleman’s manor house, three storeys high, with Gothic turrets rising up into the sky.

  Passing through the tall wrought-iron gates, Ned drove the cart up the long, straight, gravel drive, but there was no sign of life. Victoria’s trepidation increased a thousandfold by the sheer size of the building. It made her feel even smaller and more insignificant than she already did. The door was opened by Mrs Hughs, the housekeeper. Victoria informed her of her identity and Mrs Hughs let her in. Once inside the Hall the warmth struck her immediately, causing her to glance towards the roaring fire set in the deep stone fireplace.

  Mrs Hughs gave a sad shake of her head. As soon as the master had heard of Betty’s illness, he had set the whole household agog by going to the extraordinary lengths of having her brought to the Hall.

  ‘The master has spared neither trouble nor expense to see that your mother is taken care of. He has been goodness itself.’

  ‘I’m sure he has and I am grateful.’

  ‘Your mother is very ill, Miss Lewis. Indeed, she cannot rise from her bed,’ she told Victoria in a quiet, sombre voice. ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘Please will you take me to her?’

  ‘Of course. Come with me.’

  Victoria followed her up the wide, oak staircase on to a long gallery. Everything was very stately and imposing to her. She was aware of gilt-framed pictures on the walls, graceful marble statues in niches and the richness of the Persian carpet beneath her feet, but unaccustomed to such grandeur and with her mind set on reaching her mother, she did not give them much further attention.

  She was ushered along a corridor that led to the domestic quarters. After several twists and turns they entered her mother’s room. It was small yet comfortable, offering a splendid view of the moors. A vase of flowers and a bowl of fruit stood on a dresser by the window.

  Her mother was in bed. Her face was still beautiful. Age had faded the intensity and colours of her beauty, but not the structure. Her grey hair was long and braided and draped over her shoulder, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. Once so tall and fine, she was now all bones and her lips were blue.

  Victoria knew that over the years her mother had tried her best, but she had never loved her as deeply as her father had. Her mother had rarely held her, and Victoria could not remember her coming to her room to kiss her goodnight except on the rare occasions in her childhood when she had been ill. Often when she had tried to hug her mother, she had been gently put away from her, with the words: ‘Not now, Victoria, Mother is tired,’ whereas her father had been more affectionate, sitting her on his knee while he read her stories and giving her bear hugs when she hurt herself. Victoria had always assumed that she was too much trouble for her mother, which was probably why she had been happy for her to go away to school.

  Without her father to turn to, Victoria had taken the pain and turned it inwards and for a while she had been adrift. But now, seeing how ill her mother was, she decided to cling to those things that were wonderful about her and to ignore the insecurity, instability and anxiety that had beset her all her young life.

  On opening her eyes and seeing Victoria, Betty offered a weak smile. ‘Why, Victoria! Is it really you? What a lovely surprise. I was not expecting you for several weeks.’

  Victoria had not cried in a long while, not since the death of her beloved father when she had been a girl. Now tears threatened and she struggled to keep them at bay. Approaching the bed, she reached out and took her mother’s hand, bending over to kiss her mother’s brow.

  ‘I did not know you were so ill, Mother. Truly I didn’t. Why was I not told? I would have come home immedia
tely to take care of you.’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you. Your time at the Academy was almost over and I knew you would soon be home. Don’t look so worried, my dear,’ she said, seeing her daughter’s eyes bright with tears. After an awkward moment she reached up and with a slender thumb she wiped away a tear. Her eyes were soft and unafraid. ‘Don’t be concerned.’

  ‘But of course I’m concerned. I don’t understand why you are here—at the Hall.’

  ‘Because I was lady’s maid to the old mistress.’ She smiled. ‘Lord Rockford has been very kind to me. When he heard I was ill and alone in my cottage, he had me brought here where I can be looked after properly.’

  Full of remorse and resentful that she was to be denied taking care of her mother when, for the first time in her life, she needed her—for was it not a daughter’s duty to look after her mother?—Victoria took her hand, relieved that she did not pull away. As poorly as her mother was, she had decided not to mention the cottage. But she wanted answers and only one man could give them to her. ‘I should have been here to look after you—and I would have been had you not sent me away.’

  ‘I have told you over and over again that it was for your own good, Victoria,’ she whispered, coughing. She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath and expelling it slowly before continuing. ‘You know how important your education was to your father. It was what he wanted.’

  Victoria gave her a tender smile. ‘While you always wanted me to be a lady.’

  ‘Which is exactly as you’ve turned out. Why, look at you—a proper young lady. You make me so proud. And you’ve done well at the Academy. Whatever you decide to do, you have a bright future ahead of you, Victoria.’

  Victoria remembered the time when she had been taken out of the village school where her father had been the headmaster and sent to the Academy in York to be shaped. Into what? she had asked. A young lady, her mother had replied.

  ‘You cannot remain here. Will you come home now I am here to take care of you?’

  ‘Lord Rockford is most adamant that I remain at the Hall. I am well looked after and my every need is taken care of.’

  ‘But—Lord Rockford! I have heard he is most fearsome.’

  ‘Do not judge the master too harshly, Victoria. There is good in everyone. Always remember that. And there’s a great deal of good in him. He has shown it with his kindness to me.’

  Victoria had almost forgotten her father’s words as he lay dying, telling her mother not to worry, that the master would take care of her. Until today she had never given Lord Rockford a moment’s thought, a man with whom she had never come into contact. She’d been too young and stricken with grief to realise that one day he’d be something more.

  ‘You must speak to him,’ Betty said. ‘I know he has been looking forward to meeting you. I—would like you to stay here with me, Victoria. Lord Rockford will suggest it.’

  ‘I see.’ Victoria didn’t see, not really, and she would do everything within her power to take her home. But her mother was becoming visibly weaker and her eyes were closing so she let the matter rest. She sat by her, the person who had remained the one constant throughout her life, and she told herself that if anyone deserved God on their side, it was she.

  Chapter Two

  It was dark when Laurence arrived home, having ridden with Clara Ellingham to the Grange, where she lived with his brother Nathan and his new wife Diana, Clara’s sister. Six weeks ago they had left for France on their honeymoon. They were expected back at any time.

  He crossed the hall and went into his study. After a few moments Jenkins, the butler at Stonegrave Hall, entered. He carried a salver with some correspondence that had been delivered in the master’s absence and a glass of brandy, which the master always insisted on before dinner.

  ‘Some correspondence and your brandy, sir,’ he murmured diffidently as he placed both beside him on the desk.

  Wordlessly, Laurence picked up the glass and took a drink.

  All this was executed with the precision of a minuet, for Lord Rockford was an exacting master who demanded his estate and other business affairs ran as smoothly as a well-oiled machine. There was an authoritative, brisk, no-nonsense air about him. His sharp, distinguished good looks and bearing always demanded a second look—and, indeed, with his reputation for being an astute businessman with an inbred iron toughness, he was not a man who could be ignored.

  He had always measured his own worth by how hard he worked, how many successful business transactions he could complete from the time the sun came up until it went down. His diligence was his calling card and the foundation of his fine reputation. He had built his sense of worth one step at a time.

  The servants were in awe of him, regarding him as a harsh, sometimes frighteningly unapproachable deity whom they strove desperately to please.

  Jenkins knew he’d been riding with Miss Ellingham, a young lady who had ambitions to be the mistress of Stonegrave Hall. But the master was having none of it. After being jilted at the altar some years earlier by a young woman in favour of a suitor with a loftier title, Lord Rockford had good reason to be cynical where women were concerned. However, he was still regarded as a tremendous matrimonial prize in high social circles.

  ‘How is Mrs Lewis?’ Laurence enquired without lifting his head.

  ‘The same, I believe, sir. Her daughter arrived a short while ago. She is with Mrs Lewis as we speak.’

  ‘I see.’ Laurence’s voice was without expression. ‘Have her brought to me, will you, as soon as I have eaten.’

  * * *

  Victoria sat with her mother until Mrs Hughs popped her head round the door half an hour later.

  ‘The master’s home and asking to see you. He’s down in the hall.’

  Somewhat nervous, not wishing to keep Lord Rockford waiting, Victoria went immediately. On reaching the bottom of the stairs she stopped. A man stood in front of the fire. Within the circle of firelight he looked to her to be tall and dark. There was something else she could not put a name to. It wasn’t frightening, yet it was unsettling. His dark head was slightly bent, his expression brooding as he gazed into the fire, his booted foot on the steel fender. He’d taken off his jacket, and beneath the soft lawn shirt his muscles flexed as he raised his hand and shoved it through the side of his hair.

  Power, danger and bold vitality emanated from every line of his towering physique. Thinking back to her earlier behaviour when they had met on the moor, mortified, she was contemplating fleeing back to her mother’s room, but he must have sensed her presence because he turned his head and looked directly at her. Her eyes collided with his. They were focused, intently, on her, the expression she could not fathom.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, noting that her eyes held a gravity that matched his own. The devil in him stirred and stretched, then settled to contemplate this latest challenge. ‘So you are Victoria Lewis. I should have known, although you were not expected back just now.’

  ‘I knew my mother was ill, which is why I left the Academy at the end of the Easter term. I was deeply concerned about her. I also hoped to surprise her.’

  ‘Come and join me. I would like to take a closer look at the young woman I met earlier, who played such havoc with my companion’s temper.’

  Victoria complied, albeit hesitantly, and walked towards him, yet there was something in the impatient, yet formal tone which gave her a slight feeling of nervousness. Lord Rockford’s dark face, stern features and gathered eyebrows gave his face a grim look. She could see there was something purposeful and inaccessible about him, and those blue eyes, which penetrated her own, were as cold and hard as newly forged steel. There was no warmth in them, no humour to soften those granite features.

  Yet she felt no fear of him, only a little shyness now. A not unpleasant aroma reached her nose, a mixture of sweat, tobacco f
umes and leather mixed with a distinctive smell of horseflesh.

  When she stood before him he took a step towards her and before she knew what he was about to do, he put a strangely gentle finger under her chin, tilting her face so that he could see it better. He looked at it hard, seeming to scrutinise every detail, probing her eyes with his own, searching—for what? she wondered. He nodded slightly, as if he had found what he was looking for. Victoria pulled away from his hand, almost tripping in her eagerness to get free, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment, the nearness of his searching eyes, the touch of his hand on her skin, his strong chin, the lovely deep blue of his eyes and the warmth of his breath on her face. She moved further away from him, her cheeks touched with colour.

  ‘Do you always subject people to such close scrutiny when you meet them, Lord Rockford?’ she asked directly. ‘I am not used to being looked at like that and find it extremely unsettling. Is there something wrong with my face that makes you examine it so thoroughly?’

  A faint smile tugged at his lips. ‘I assure you, Miss Lewis, there is nothing wrong with your face.’

  ‘That’s all right, then.’

  Laurence saw no trace of the girl he had met on the moors earlier. This young woman was the personification of elegance, refinement and grace. Her loveliness was at once wild and delicate. As fine as sculptured porcelain, her face expressed a frank, lively mind and a mercurial nature, full of caprice—the sort of girl who would play her way or not at all. But as he gazed at her he was most keenly aware of her innocence. He felt the touch of her eyes, felt the hunter within him rise in response to that artless glance. Though her wide amber eyes hinted at an untapped wantonness, he could sense the youthful freshness of her spirit, a tangible force that simultaneously made him want to cast her away from him or bare his soul.

  He would do neither, but he did nothing to stem the rakish twist of his lips. ‘Don’t disappoint me, Miss Lewis, by acting sensibly now,’ he said, his eyes agleam with a very personal challenge.