Mrs Friggens rolled the dough into shape to place in the range. ‘Give him his due, though, when Zachariah was took bad with arthritis and could hardly move his hands, Daniel seemed to settle down and started running the farm. Zachariah would have had to sell the farm if it weren’t for him. Eventually he changed his will so everything was left to Daniel, as Amy, Zachariah’s wife, had died three years before. Six months after Zachariah changed his will he was found dead, his head bashed in.’
Janey pricked her finger and looked up. She stemmed the bleeding by popping it into her mouth.
‘Rumour has it Daniel did it to get the farm,’ added Mary.
Mrs Friggens made a face but didn’t say anything to disagree with the comment.
‘He’s a murderer?’ asked Charlotte, with horror.
‘He was never charged, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Daniel and Zachariah were the only ones on the farm that day. There were no witnesses and who benefitted from his death? Daniel did,’ replied the cook, placing the dough on a baking tray. She picked up the tray and spun around towards the range. ‘I’m not saying anything, or accusing anyone. All I’m saying is steer clear of Daniel Kellow, like everyone else does. He’s trouble.’
Janey threaded her needle, images of Daniel Kellow building the stone wall on the day of her interview invading her concentration. She had been alone with him, what if he had attacked her or killed her? No one would have known what had happened to her. She shivered at the thought. Yet, she concluded as she continued to sew, there was nothing threatening about his wink, just arrogance that she would be charmed by him. There was certainly something about Daniel Kellow that drew you in by an invisible force, whilst his dark eyes had the power to hold you there. A man who’s presence could change from being one of a threat, to one of boyish charm, in a wink of an eye. There was no doubt about it, the man was trouble and she would do well to stay clear of him.
‘I think he’s handsome,’ said Mary, returning to the window to watch him in the distance. ‘Besides, nothing was proved. The villagers keep away unless they want his help.’
Janey had an urge to join her at the window, but instead returned to her sewing with a little more vigour than she had before.
The day had finally arrived when James Brockenshaw returned from his summer stay in Bath. He arrived late in the morning, striding into the hall, filled with confidence in his welcome and his position within the household. His friends were to arrive later in the day, a guest list that had extended to six more than the original number. Mrs Friggens was informed of this shortly after his arrival, following his casually imparting of the news to the butler. On being told of the changes the cook had almost fainted in shock for the number had doubled in size. She soon set to work but her usual relaxed manner vanished and did not reappear until the guests left three days later.
Janey had been returning to her mistress’s bedroom and found herself at the top of the stairs to the hall at the moment of his arrival home. She had just settled Lady Brockenshaw in the drawing room with her husband, Lord Brockenshaw, who was a short, round, gouty man with a bald head and large sideburns. He had never acknowledged her, as his philosophy was servants were there to serve and not to have conversations with and his wife’s lady’s maid was no exception.
Janey heard James’s voice first. It was friendly and cheerful and drew her to the bannister to look down on the hall. He was politely asking after the butler’s family and his health, whilst handing him his top hat and coat. He was just how she had imagined him to be, aristocratically handsome, tall and slender with fair straight hair and noble features. He was charming and, in turn, one was charmed by him. Janey Carhart drank in the vision of him and was captivated.
His father must have heard his arrival as he came into the hall to greet his son. They shook hands. Soon jovial laughter wafted up to Janey who sat down on the top step to watch through the bannister rails. Shyly she observed James exchanging some pleasantries on nothing of importance and then he followed his father into the drawing room. Janey imagined a happy embrace between mother and son. She sat for a moment. The hall below now seemed empty without him. Already Janey wanted to see him again, to be able to watch him move and hear him talk. Was this love at first sight, she wondered? Her heart was pounding and her mouth had turned dry. A mixture of desperation at wanting to see him again, yet terrified she would make a fool of herself in his presence, caused her stomach to ache inside her. These feelings would never come to anything, he was the son of a lord, she a lady’s maid, yet she felt in her heart that any man she would meet in the future would be compared to James Brockenshaw and found wanting.
‘Lady Brockenshaw wants her blue shawl. She said you would know which one,’ said Mr Tallock, entering the servants’ hall where Janey had retired to starch some collars.
Janey hesitated, then went upstairs to fetch it and made her way to the drawing room. She had wanted this to happen all afternoon, yet dreaded it too. She entered the ornately furnished room, made cosy by dark red fabrics and numerous leafy green plants, and took the shawl to her mistress. She shyly looked about her to find Lord Brockenshaw and his son reading the papers and drinking whisky by the fire. James’s long legs were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. The men did not acknowledge her entrance. While she was attending to her mistress, Charlie jumped over his legs to greet her and she was aware James sat forward to follow the dog’s movements. He saw her outstretched hand gently fondle the dog’s ear in greeting. His gaze ran up her arm to meet hers, rested there for a second longer than was necessary. Then the connection was over and he sat back in his leather chair and returned to his paper.
Janey left the room, heart thudding. She returned to her duties but his eyes stayed in her mind. The memory banished all thoughts of Daniel Kellow’s dark smouldering eyes, because now James Brockenshaw had entered her world and he was everything she had imagined him to be.
Janey stepped back to admire her work. ‘Finished, ma’am.’
Lady Brockenshaw carefully felt her hair, the decorative comb and the tendrils by her ears and at the nape of the neck. Her hair was pleated and lifted high at the back of her head to mirror the shape of her new dress, which incorporated a fashionable bustle. She stood and felt the line of her dress and the beading on her bodice.
Instinctively knowing what her mistress needed, Janey described the dress to her.
‘Your dress is silk taffeta. The colour is a deep blue, like the sea on a sunny day. The folds and fabric reflects the light as it falls and drapes to the ground. The glass beads resemble drops of dew held by an invisible cobweb. The comb in your hair is blue to match your dress. You look lovely, ma’am.’
Lady Brockenshaw smiled.
‘I feel lovely, thank you, Janey. You are a dear.’
Lord Brockenshaw knocked on the door and entered to take his wife downstairs. Janey was left to tidy the room, but upon hearing carriages drawing up at the entrance she paused at the window to watch the guests arrive. The evening celebrations were about to begin for the landed gentry, while the domestic staff worked frantically in the depths of the house to ensure all ran smoothly and the evening was a success. Janey felt an outsider looking out on to a world she had no part in. Not for the first time she felt she belonged to neither one group nor the other.
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The Thief's Daughter Page 31
