She had wakened in a pleasurable state of mind, recalling her success at the ball and how Acland had pursued her until everyone remarked upon it. That was even more pleasing, for she enjoyed envious glances. No doubt Agatha had been more jealous than any, for she had hinted that her distant step-cousin had once wanted to marry her and had departed with a broken heart because she rejected him. Not that Phoebe believed a word of it.
Hannah, obeying instructions, roused her mistress well before noon and if she was surprised at the amount of time spent on choosing a gown her impassive face revealed nothing, and if she wondered why the choice seemed more than usually difficult for such an hour of the day, she gave no sign. What a dull, cumbersome creature she was, Phoebe had thought as she riffled through her capacious closets. The woman was sallow-faced and hollow-eyed, as if she never had enough sleep, which was ridiculous for if ever a maid was indulged, it was Hannah. Phoebe prided herself on being a fair-minded mistress. But firm, of course. Servants had to be kept on their toes.
Acland arrived promptly, evidence of his reluctance to be denied even the smallest measure of her time. Hannah announced him in that inscrutable way of hers and brought the syllabub ordered by her mistress, served in Rockingham syllabub cups. Phoebe never offered Drayton ware to her guests, though Olivia insisted that the bone china Martin now manufactured was equal to the best ever to come out of the potteries. And soon, she declared, the amount of porcelain Drayton’s produced would be an even more prominent line, though how the girl knew that or why she should be interested Phoebe neither knew nor cared.
After serving, Hannah plodded away on those enormous feet of hers and Phoebe settled back to enjoy herself.
It seemed he had acquired tickets for a concert in Tunstall the following evening. ‘A string quartet … Mozart … my instinct tells me you love music, Mistress Freeman. It is evident from the way you dance, the way you move. I hope you will do me the honour of escorting you?’ Even the distance to and from Stoke was dismissed. ‘I have the best turn-out and the best driver the Duke’s Head can offer, for the whole of my visit. I am staying there, of course.’
Of course. Where else would such a man lodge? The Duke’s Head had been famed as Stoke’s finest inn for over half a century, with the finest food, the finest accommodation, the finest stables and the finest whips. The prospect of covering the miles in the intimacy of an enclosed carriage with a man like Acland was exciting. She accepted willingly, but hid her eagerness, merely asking if he had stayed at the Duke’s Head before.
‘Once. Many years ago.’
‘When you attended my brother’s marriage to Agatha?’
‘Then, and later.’
‘I wasn’t aware you had ever re-visited the Potteries.’
‘I returned on a matter of business. A small thing in connection with the Grand Trunk Scheme. There was a hitch of some kind.’
‘I recall a delay. Didn’t Neville Armstrong cause it by withdrawing his bond for ten thousand pounds? People have never understood why he did so, in view of his enthusiasm for the scheme.’
‘He did it because there were doubts about the man he sponsored as Surveyor General. The Board wouldn’t accept him.
‘You mean Simon Kendall? But he was appointed in the end.’ Flicking invisible dust off her taffeta skirts, Phoebe finished casually, ‘Doubts, you say. What sort of doubts?’
‘Regarding his character.’
‘You mean he was — undesirable?’
‘I believe so.’
‘In what way?’ When Acland remained silent, Phoebe added briskly, ‘Come, sir, you need hide nothing from me, even though the man does happen to be my sister’s husband. Did you know that?’
‘I had heard so.’
But he was still reluctant to say more. She admired and respected him for that, but even so curiosity got the better of her.
‘Morally undesirable — that is what you mean, isn’t it? Believe me, I am aware of that. My sister was obliged to marry him, so she was morally undesirable too, I’m afraid. It won’t surprise you to learn that I see little of her, for we have nothing in common.’
‘That was always obvious. I first saw both of you at Matins in the parish church during my first visit to Tremain, and couldn’t believe it when Agatha said you were twins. I was introduced to your sister very briefly, but it was you I really wanted to meet. Then I saw you again at Agatha’s wedding, accompanied by your husband. The Kendalls were not there.’
‘Of course not. Joseph refused to accept them, as he did at my own wedding. My brother was a man of good sense and high morals, and I agreed with his decision. Did you ever meet him, Mr Acland?’
‘Only to shake his hand and congratulate him, along with a line of wedding guests. A handsome man. His son is like him.’
‘Dear Lionel … such a charming boy. He has a great affection for me, as I have for him. Joseph would have been proud of Lionel.’ Dabbing at invisible tears, Phoebe finished, ‘So tragic that he didn’t even know a child was to be born!’
‘You too lost your husband before the birth of your daughter, I am told, so you have also suffered, dear lady.’
The warmth in his eyes, the tenderness and understanding in his voice, banished her brief display of sorrow, but she dabbed again at invisible tears and nodded her head, bobbing the ringlets about her face, thoughts of anyone else completely forgotten, and when he added that she looked far too young to be the mother of a grown-up daughter her cup was full, even the crocodile tears forgotten.
‘And you, Mr Acland? Have you no children of your own?’
‘Neither children or wife, alas. I have never been fortunate enough to meet the right woman … until now … ’ His voice dropped to a murmur on the last two words, so low that she was unsure whether she heard them correctly. Then he finished, ‘So we are both alone, Mistress Freeman — I a bachelor and you a widow though, forgive me if I touch upon a painful subject, it is rumoured that your husband’s death has never been confirmed.’
‘Only out of consideration for my mother-in-law, who refuses to believe it and is indulged by her husband. He declines to force the issue for fear of causing her further distress. I never did see two old people so soft about each other. It is comical, I do declare. But it is also tiresome, proving an obstacle from my point of view.’
‘But as the wife, you can yourself seek official recognition of your husband’s death.’
How could she admit that she had decided, long ago, not to thwart Charlotte’s wishes in the matter because it was wiser to humour the old lady, or pretend to? Antagonise her, and the chances of Olivia being named as heretrix were likely to be remote. Lionel would be favoured instead and she, once married to the rightful heir, would be no power behind the throne at all. And a worse thought troubled her — that the desired match between the cousins could also be doomed to failure if Olivia stubbornly refused to go through with it, and no one knew better than she how stubborn the girl could be. Lionel would then marry some outsider and bring her to reign over Tremain alongside him. Such an idea was too awful to contemplate, for it meant that she herself would have to move out of the heir’s wing, becoming nothing but an unimportant relative delegated to quarters in some lesser part of the mansion; forgotten, aging.
So let the situation remain as it was. The uncertainty in Charlotte’s mind could at least keep a worse situation at bay. But these thoughts were to be shared with no one, not even with a man so trustworthy as Roger Acland.
So she rallied and said, ‘You are right, of course, sir, but I could never bring myself to hurt the old lady. I find it unbearable to distress people.’
‘But if you should wish to re-marry … ?’
‘I’ve met no man whom I would want to put in my husband’s place.’
‘Not yet, perhaps. But one day — who knows? Meanwhile, I applaud your loyalty, both to your husband and to his mother. You have a kind and gentle heart, Mistress Freeman.’
‘Phoebe.’
‘Mistr
ess Phoebe.’ His voice was a caress.
A silence then descended, during which he continued to look at her with undisguised admiration and she continued to respond, but cautiously. She was almost alarmed by her reaction to this man, but excited by it in an exquisite sort of way.
At length he said gently, ‘I am glad you have a daughter to sustain and comfort you — ’
He broke off, looking away. At first she thought emotion had overcome him, then she saw the questioning look on his face and followed his glance. The daughter who ‘sustained and comforted her’ had walked in, looking a fearful sight in clothes fit only for a kitchen maid.
The pause could only have lasted a few seconds, but for Olivia it threw Acland’s features into sharp focus and her mother’s into a petulant vignette. There was no welcome in either, but in the man’s eyes was age-old male assessment. They had seen each other only in passing last night, figures in a crowd. He was actually meeting her now for the first time and coolly summing her up. She disliked that as greatly as she disliked him, handsome though he was, courteous though he was. He was instantly on his feet, bowing, waiting to be presented, and after Phoebe’s first startled reaction, followed by hastily smothered fury, she was introducing him with impeccable courtesy. Phoebe could never be faulted where etiquette was concerned. The underlying reproach, sensed only by her daughter, would be vented later.
‘My darling,’ she trilled as Olivia advanced into the room, ‘I thought you were out. How fortunate that you should have returned before Mr Acland leaves. As you are no doubt aware, he is a cousin of dear Agatha — ’
‘Step-cousin,’ he pointed out. ‘And distant. And though I noticed Miss Olivia last night, I had no idea she was your daughter. So unlike yourself … ’
‘Isn’t she! She favours the Freeman side, alas.’
‘Alas?’ Olivia echoed, faintly nettled. ‘Grandfather Ralph is a good looking old gentleman and Amelia extremely pretty. I should be happy to think I resembled either, but since my cousin Lionel once declared that I favoured my grandmother, who was a Tremain, and my grandfather sees a likeness in me to Aunt Jessica, who was a Drayton, I have no cause for complaint in any direction.’
‘Not very complimentary to her mother, is she?’ Phoebe’s laughter was arch, but it held the scratch of claws beneath.
‘Your mother is an extremely pretty woman, Miss Freeman.’
‘I know. She has always been so, and I have always admired her, and I have always been aware that I lack her beauty. And now, if you will excuse me, I must change out of these working clothes.’
Phoebe was finding it hard to sustain a light touch and was furious with her daughter for making the effort necessary. (How dare she invade my privacy, looking like an untidy village wench into the bargain?) Unable to hide her annoyance any longer, she said sharply, ‘What do you mean — working clothes?’
‘Precisely that. I wear these garments at the pottery, hence the clay dust. I’m sorry about that. I should have changed before coming to find you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
But Olivia was heading for the door again and throwing over her shoulder, ‘I’ll tell you later — ’
‘Wait a minute!’ Phoebe’s vexation surfaced. ‘Please remember that I am your mother and entitled to respect. And what will dear Mr Acland think of you, being so off-hand and indifferent to my feelings?’ Fury choked her, but she turned it into a sob, anxious to appear as a wronged mother rather than an angry one. As usual, it worked, bringing her daughter to heel and winning a glance of compassion from Acland.
‘Forgive me, Mamma.’ Olivia turned, waiting with one hand on the door knob. ‘What is it you want to know?’
‘Why you are wearing those clothes, for a start, and what you meant about wearing them at the pottery.’ Phoebe gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Believe me, Mr Acland, my daughter is not usually so badly dressed, nor so untidy, and certainly never so dirty.’ His sympathetic smile lulled her agitation so that she was able to say more calmly, ‘I think I must have misunderstood you, Olivia.’
‘No. It was I who didn’t make it clear. I have told the others already — ’
‘Others?’
‘My grandparents, and Lionel. He happened to be there. Like you, they noticed these dusty garments, but there was another reason why I had to explain.’
‘What reason?’
‘For the present, all you need know is that I’ve been escaping to the Drayton Pottery as often as I could, mainly on Sundays, but now I want to go there every day … as a worker if Uncle Martin will agree. I came to tell you that I’m going to see him immediately. I thought it right that you should know.’
Phoebe’s ringlets trembled with shock and outrage.
‘Escaping? What do you mean — escaping? And as for working there, what could you possibly do and how could a young woman of refinement fit into such a place? What is more, how can you possibly want to!’ Turning to her guest she cried, ‘She must be joking! Dear Mr Acland, tell me she is joking! Or has she taken leave of her senses? That must be it — the girl has gone mad!’
She buried her face in her hands, sobbing. He took hold of her shoulders, turning her to face him, saying nothing. Over her head he watched her daughter disappear, then listened to the quick, light, determined footsteps hurrying away. Gently, he patted the golden curls, careful not to dislodge them. With her face bowed, Phoebe could not see his amused expression, and he was careful to keep any hint of it from his voice.
Very seriously he said, ‘No, dear lady. She is not joking. That young woman means every word she says.’
Amelia was surprised, but not sorry, when Olivia returned unexpectedly to Medlar Croft, for the girl had been on her mind ever since they left Damian Fletcher’s house. She had been troubled by her pallor and her silence, sensing that something had upset her and trying to identify the cause. She had seemed to withdraw mentally and the only clue was the timing, which pointed to the moment when Damian revealed that the young woman in the miniature was his wife.
The significance of Olivia’s reaction didn’t escape Amelia, who knew her character well. The closeness of their relationship had resulted in a mutual understanding such as the girl had never experienced with her mother. Amelia therefore knew that Olivia’s nature was warm and affectionate, outgiving and sensitive — not unlike her own in many ways, but less extrovert, thanks to her mother’s attitudes. Phoebe regarded an unmarried daughter as a failure, and she deplored not only the girl’s looks, but almost everything about her. She could see no charm in her angularity, her coltishness, her long straight hair and features so unlike her own, and she had never been at any pains to hide these feelings.
‘No man will ever look at you if you don’t do some thing about your looks, Olivia!’ Amelia had heard Phoebe say that to her daughter a hundred times or more, also that she couldn’t imagine how she had ever come to give birth to such a beanpole. She was fond of decrying the girl’s lack of bodily curves, comparing them unfavourably with her own at Olivia’s age, and even at her present age. ‘I despair of her ever looking fashionable with such lanky limbs beneath her gowns! And how can she ever hope to find a husband, looking the way she does?’ The last was another of Phoebe’s cries, frequently made when Olivia was within earshot.
Mercifully, a sense of humour had seen the girl through her awkward years, and her early interest in clay had been an outlet for self-expression, but her talent needed direction and, Martin had confided to his wife, a great deal more training if her potential was to be really fulfilled. The most he could contribute, after showing her some of the rudiments in the handling and preparation of clay, was to let her model whatever she willed whenever she could escape from her mother, but she would never reach her peak without more intensive concentration than snatched moments permitted. Then there was the question of marriage which, with the wrong husband, could restrict her even further. She would need an understanding man, one who would be proud of his wife’s talent and encoura
ge it. In an age such as this, such a marriage would be rare indeed.
Even so, there were times when Amelia thought it a pity that Olivia had never fallen in love with one of the many eligible bachelors in their social circle, though Martin decried them as luxury-loving, time-wasting, and effeminate, with which she privately agreed, but the thought of Olivia being harnessed to her mother’s domination for ever concerned her deeply.
‘It won’t be for ever,’ Martin had assured her. ‘She will become mistress of Tremain and then the tables will be turned.’
Amelia wasn’t so sure that Olivia would welcome that fate, nor was she so sure that Phoebe would cease to dominate. The woman was a skilled manipulator where her own desires were concerned. It would need a strong-minded son-in-law to keep her in her place, and no such prospect had yet appeared. In moments of rare despondency Amelia reminded herself that there was still plenty of time despite the present-day belief that a woman who lacked a wedding ring by the time she was twenty was doomed to lonely and permanent spinsterhood.
But now she feared the girl had fallen in love with a married man who could never reciprocate her feelings and was unlikely ever to want to. Amelia’s alert eyes had not missed Damian Fletcher’s pride when he named the young woman in the miniature, nor the care with which he had replaced it on the table beside his wing chair. She could imagine him sitting there reading during long winter evenings, his wife’s portrait so close that he had only to reach out to touch it, and the loneliness of such a picture had moved her until she turned away and saw Olivia’s betraying face — still, controlled, impassive to all but she who knew her so well.
Amelia had watched the girl ride off in the direction of Tremain Hall, wishing she would turn and wave in her usual affectionate way, but there had been no backward glance, no wave, no reassuring smile, and concern had sharpened. Even Martin’s conversation, in which she normally participated with interest, failed to absorb her, and when he had expressed surprise that both Wesley and Fletcher should have visited Savannah, she merely replied that it only went to show how small the world was. The words were spoken absently because she could not shake off a fear that Olivia was going to be hurt.
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