Straw in the Wind

by Janet Woods

  A series of rattling growls and her nerve broke. She began to run. In the corner of her eye a second dog appeared from the shadow of the porch and joined in the hunt. The oak tree! She veered right and picked up speed. As she was about to leap on to the seat, teeth sank into her boot and brought her down. When its teeth penetrated the leather, she screamed and lashed out with her basket. The dog abandoned her foot and joined the other one in worrying the hem of her cloak between them.

  There was a yelp as she connected with one of the dogs. Loosening the strings on her cloak she let it fall then scrambled on to the seat and pulled herself up into the safety of the lower limbs of the oak. The two dogs leaped up at her from the seat, their snarls ferocious. When they realized they couldn’t reach her, they lost interest, took her cloak between them and dragged it around the garden, snarling and tearing it to shreds on the thorns of the rose bushes in the process.

  ‘Freddie. Call them off,’ a woman shouted.

  There came a shrill whistle from the side of the house and the dogs’ ears pricked up. They disappeared off towards the copse, dragging the cloak between them. Keeping a cautious eye out, Sara scrambled down from the tree, picked up her scattered things and limped over towards the door as fast as she could.

  The woman who’d called out was in the porch. She was a year or so older than herself, taller, and with pale-blue eyes and light-brown hair. She stepped out of the shadows to bar her way. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Sara Finn, the housekeeper, and you are . . .?’ Sara already had a good idea who the female was, and her words confirmed it.

  ‘I’m Miss Milson, Mr Leighton’s niece.’ Sara was subjected to a hard stare. ‘My uncle must be out of his mind to hire somebody as young as you.’

  ‘I expect Mr Leighton knows his own business best, don’t you? Excuse me, Miss Milson, I need to tidy myself up. Do you know who those dogs belong to?’ Of course she did.

  Miss Milson gave a light laugh. ‘They’re Freddie’s dogs. He’s my brother.’

  ‘They’ve ripped my cloak to shreds.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy. We were just having fun; we thought you were Fanny.’

  When Sara went to walk round her Jane Milson moved in front of her.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Sara said, ‘I need to go indoors.’

  A hand came down on her arm, fingers hooked like claws. ‘There is a servants’ entrance, Miss Finn, so I suggest you use it.’

  Tight-lipped, Sara shrugged the arm away, turned and hurried round the side of the house. She nearly bumped into a man coming in the opposite direction. The dogs sprang at her and he spoke gruffly to them. They sat instantly, but though they were leashed and couldn’t reach her she gave a strangled scream.

  She didn’t have to wait for the man to introduce himself. He was too much like Miss Milson to be anyone else but her brother. He had the remains of Sara’s cloak over his arm. ‘Is this yours?’

  ‘Yes it is mine, and it’s ruined.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s only a cheap rag.’

  ‘It wasn’t a rag before your dogs got hold of it. It was those dogs who attacked me, and from now on I’d be obliged if you kept them under control.’

  ‘You’re a saucy little madam for a servant.’ His smile was a well-honed sneer. ‘Do you know who I am? I’m Frederick Milson.’

  He was chubbier in the face than his sister. His eyes had a slightly bulbous look, like a frog. ‘Yes, I do know. I’m Sara Finn, the new housekeeper.’

  He scrutinized her for a few moments then grazed his finger gently down her cheek. ‘My uncle always appreciated a pretty female; it’s a pity he can’t see you.’

  Taking a step back she glared at him.

  ‘Oh dear, so you’re keeping yourself for marriage, are you?’

  She blushed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’ He huffed out a breath. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing. If you change your mind let me know, I’ll make it worth your while.’

  ‘Get out of my way, you . . . creature!’

  He stepped aside, laughing. ‘Sorry that the dogs gave you a fright. They’ll be all right when they get to know you.’ He took her by the wrist and, although she resisted, he didn’t loosen his grip. ‘Oh, do behave, girl. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to introduce you to my dogs.’

  When she relaxed he said, ‘Bunch your fist . . . good . . . now allow them to smell your hand . . . pat them.’ He let go of her hand.

  She was tempted to swing her arm round and give him a good slap. As if he sensed it, he said, ‘Don’t be aggressive towards me, as they can smell it. And they can also smell fear.’

  She saw the sense in being on friendly terms with the dogs. As for their master, he could go and eat mud! After a moment or two of caution the dogs wagged their tails and vied with each other for more pats.

  He handed her the remains of her cloak. ‘Don’t worry, girl, I’ll make sure your cloak is replaced.’

  ‘Thank you. Excuse me now. I need to tidy myself up.’

  Stepping aside he bowed slightly, his eyes glittering when he allowed his gaze to linger on her breasts. He smiled when she clutched her tattered cape against her bodice. ‘My pleasure, my dear.’

  It was a relief to get away from him. When she entered the kitchen, Maggie’s lips tightened. ‘I imagine you’ve just met Mr Frederick Milson and his sister? They came bowling up in the station cab about an hour ago. What did you think of them?’

  She managed a wry smile.

  ‘Well, all I can say is, thank goodness the master will be arriving tomorrow.’

  Six

  London

  Dear Mr Chapman,

  We met recently at the opening of the Thornton emporium. I’m acquainted with your delightful sister, Miss Chapman, who was a gracious guest at an afternoon tea hosted by my sister and me.

  Yesterday, I came across a small notice in the local paper requesting information about a certain infant who was left at a certain orphanage on a certain day, and mentioning a certain reward. I would be grateful if you would keep the following information confidential.

  Adam winced. Did Lucy Stanhope need to dramatize her prose by the use of verbal dittos?

  Celia smiled at him and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Lucy Stanhope is being a bloodhound,’ he told her, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

  ‘Ah, one of the dreaded gossip sisters,’ Celia said with a grimace.

  ‘Hush, Celia. How can you be so mean about them when they inform me that you’re a gracious and delightful creature.’

  Celia grinned at him. ‘That was a state that was unbelievably difficult to achieve and maintain at the time, believe me. Does Miss Lucy have any information? As I told you, her sister was reluctant to say anything, though they were as nervous as hens and you could see they were dying to lay their eggs and cluck loudly.’ She sighed. ‘Failing to get them to talk proved to me that my detecting abilities are without merit at present.’

  ‘Marianne was of the opinion that it was because her husband had put Agnes and Lucy Stanhope firmly in their place, and had been rather forceful about it.’

  ‘What does the woman have to say for herself?’

  Adam quickly read the rest of the letter, then his eyes sharpened. ‘Apart from what we already know, she says that when Constance Jarvis was taken ill and it became apparent that she wouldn’t survive, her coachman and his wife moved to a farm in Gloucester. She writes: They already had two children of their own, a girl and a boy. But a former maid who visited her there told Lucy that she saw two girls living with them, and they were of a similar age.’ Taking his eyes from the words he gazed up at her, smiling. ‘This is progress, something you paved the way for since your presence at their tea party gave them the means to approach me.’

  ‘Perhaps the person who told Lucy Stanhope made a mistake.’

  ‘You mean the maid might have been cross-eyed and saw the same girl twice?’ He laughed. ‘That’s
possible, but not many people are unable to count past two. The maid also told her that the girl looked like Constance Jarvis’s young ward. The couple denied it though, saying she was their niece.’

  ‘Isn’t it possible that she was their niece?’ Celia laughed when she saw the gleam in her brother’s eyes. ‘I can see that the letter has piqued your interest, since your nose is twitching, as Marianne once pointed out. Out with it then, Adam.’

  ‘It was rumoured that the farm was bought with a legacy from Miss Jarvis. She believes the place was called Tumblesham, and it was situated in the Forest of Dean area.’

  ‘Are you going there?’

  ‘I most certainly am. You can handle the office for a short while, and if you can’t, you have plenty of competent help at hand. I shouldn’t be more than three days.’

  ‘What was the name of the coachman; did Miss Lucy say?’

  ‘Christopher Fenn. His wife was called Emmy.’

  ‘Don’t forget Edgar Wyvern wants to talk to you. He’s coming over for dinner tonight.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten. I won’t be leaving until the morning, anyway.’

  They exchanged a smile, both of them with the same thought, that it was slightly strange that their mother’s swain should seek the blessing of her son, who was less than half his age.

  But Adam’s interview with Edgar Wyvern turned out to be more illuminating than that.

  After dinner the older man, who was a distinguished barrister of fifty years, retired to the front room with Adam. Sipping at his brandy he said, ‘You know that I hold your mother in great affection and esteem, Adam.’

  ‘Indeed I do.’

  ‘Then you wouldn’t put any objection forward if we married?’

  ‘Of course not, Edgar. And I speak for my sister, as well. We both want our mother to be happy.’

  ‘I’m sure I can support your mother in a manner that she’d enjoy and appreciate. Your sister as well, if she’d care to come and live with us. She would socialise with many more people, which would give her a chance to meet a suitor, if that’s her wish.’

  Adam offered him a faint smile. ‘That will be for Celia to decide, since she is of age. But my sister enjoys a quiet life, and I think she’s reconciled herself to spinsterhood, and being useful by working and earning a living for herself.’

  ‘I’m not advocating that we marry her off to the first man who takes an interest in her, nor abandon her need to be usefully employed. But rather, that she moves in an environment where she can meet people in a more social atmosphere. I entertain often, as you will discover.’

  Adam remembered Celia’s laugh ringing out when she’d been with Marianne Thornton. Perhaps his sister did need friends of her own age. It was not up to him to say what she did and didn’t need. It was entirely possible that she’d enjoy having a home and family to look after. He brought his mind back to what Edgar was saying.

  ‘That would leave you free to conduct your own life in the manner a young man should, without the added responsibility of providing both moral and financial support for your sister.’

  ‘I enjoy Celia’s company. Have you talked to my mother about this?’

  ‘Your mother agrees with me. Much as she loves and trusts you, she would prefer to have her daughter living under her own roof. I believe she intends to talk to your sister while we’re absent.’

  ‘I see.’ How quickly the course of a life could change through the intervention of another. The thought of going back home to an empty house every evening was suddenly uninviting. ‘Celia will do as our mother asks, of course. I’ll miss her if she leaves though; my sister is a good companion.’

  ‘Because I’ve sprung this on you rather suddenly I do have a solution to offer you.’

  ‘You usually do, Edgar,’ Adam said with a chuckle. ‘I’ve never met anyone so thorough, or so well prepared for a discussion. I envy you.’

  ‘Your own skills of reasoning are to be admired.’

  ‘Let me hear your solution then.’

  ‘Lease your property here in Chiswick to a suitable family, and take up gentlemen’s rooms in central London, which will be more convenient for you since they’ll be serviced.’

  ‘I suppose you already have one in mind.’

  Edgar chuckled.

  ‘If you take up my offer, I’ll then be able to introduce you to my club. As my principal heir it wouldn’t hurt you to make the right sort of contacts, and a gentleman of your age has his own needs and liaisons to consider.’

  Adam’s liaisons in the past had been few and far between, due to the fact that his available funds were used for necessities rather than pleasure. There was also a lack of privacy to consider. Something suddenly registered on Adam’s brain and his jaw nearly dropped open. What had Edgar said? Had he heard it correctly? ‘I think I misunderstood you, Edgar.’

  Edgar grinned. ‘About the liaisons or the fact that I intend to make you my heir?’

  ‘Since I’m quite able to handle any of the former which may come my way . . . that leaves only the latter.’

  ‘You didn’t misunderstand. I have no kin of my own except for an elderly uncle, who at the age of ninety-two has already outlived his two offspring. As my stepson you’ll be named as my heir. I also intend to provide for Celia, and should she marry or not, there will be a trust fund she can draw an income from so she has some degree of independence where finances are concerned.’

  ‘Did my mother—?’

  ‘I haven’t discussed my finances or plans with Florence or Celia, so neither has been informed as yet. I’d rather it was kept confidential between us for the time being, Adam. Rest assured, if anything happens to me your mother will be well taken care of.’

  Adam took a sip of his brandy then shook his head, which was in a state of turmoil. ‘I don’t know what to say, Edgar. You’ve been exceedingly generous and I thank you.’

  ‘You’re a fine young man, Adam; your father would have been proud of you.’ Edgar downed his brandy, rose to his feet then held out his hand. ‘Let’s shake on it, then go and join the ladies.’

  Adam’s mother was out of her mourning dress now, and was gowned in a sweeping silver-grey watered taffeta, the delicate lace collar secured by a gold brooch, its central garnet seated in small pearls. Just turned forty-five, Florence Chapman had a fine complexion. Her blue eyes were clear, her hair mid-brown. She was a handsome woman, but there was an anxious look in her eyes.

  Did she really imagine he’d object to her marrying Edgar? Tenderness filled his heart and he crossed to where she sat, kissing her on both cheeks when he got there. ‘Congratulations, mother dear.’

  ‘Oh dear, I thought you would mind, Adam.’

  ‘Why should I mind when your happiness is so dear to me? Celia, are you happy with the arrangement? I’m quite happy to continue to provide for you.’

  Celia smiled and nodded. ‘Perfectly. It’s about time you had a life of your own, dear brother, and I’ll see you at the office on most days. Besides, if you’re more central, mother and I will be able to see you any time we wish.’

  Odd, the rapport he had with his sister, something that had been there since he could remember. They’d always understood each other and today was no exception.

  ‘When is the wedding to be?’ he asked.

  ‘On Saturday the twenty-eighth January,’ Edgar said calmly. ‘That should give us time to make the necessary adjustments in our lives.’

  The following day Adam found himself in Gloucester. The countryside itself was overwhelmingly majestic, the hills dressed in various shades of rich green. The forest had a misty, mysterious appearance, reminding him of an illustration from one of his childhood books. He wouldn’t have been surprised if knights in shining armour and dragons with fiery breath emerged from the dark interior to challenge him.

  Instead, there were sheep grazing everywhere, watched over by shepherds and their dogs. Dredging through his mind for trivial information, Adam recalled that people born within the h
undred of St Braivels had the right to graze their pigs and sheep in the Forest of Dean – a hundred being a geographic division. The term was a little cloudy though, since it was also applied to the ability to supply one hundred men at arms, or that the land was able to sustain one hundred families.

  The day was cold, the air heavy with mist and the foliage dripped with water that clung to his coat and hat. The afternoon would darken early and the country with its craggy hills, twisting lanes and the broad sweep of the Severn and its tributaries would easily have swallowed him, had he not hired someone with local knowledge.

  ‘How did you get the name of Ham?’ he asked his guide.

  ‘Short for handsome, it be,’ the man said with a throaty laugh, and Adam smiled, for Ham Thomas was far from handsome. He was almost colourless, stocky, with thin yellow hair, a wide nose and thick, fleshy lips. Lushly broad of vowel, he’d seemed eager to earn himself a shilling or two.

  ‘The rig is only used for funerals and weddings, and we haven’t got none of them today, though Annie Parkins has got a loaf in the oven if you asks me, so she’ll be taking that man of hers up the aisle before long. Tumblesham Farm, be it, sir?’ He scratched his head. ‘What would you be wanting with that sour old bugger, Tyler Fenn, then?’

  Adam’s ears pricked up. At least one of the Fenn family still lived there. ‘You know him, do you?’

  ‘Since he first come here, when I was a lad. Let me warn you, sir, he’d sell his own daughter for a shilling if he had one.’

  Adam took note of that and employed a little subterfuge. ‘I understood Mr Fenn had two daughters and a son.’

  ‘No, that were Christopher Fenn and his family before him. Hard-working enough, but they never could make a go of that place. They didn’t know farming, see. Cholera took them all off not long after the present owner come to stay.’

  It sounded to Adam as if his quest was over before it had started, but he knew better than to take such statements at face value.