by Janet Woods
Ham kept on gossiping as they plodded up a steep hill. ‘Place is run-down now . . . you won’t mind if I stay outside will you, the place fair creeps me out . . .’
Tumblesham Farm certainly was run-down, but it could be brought up to scratch with a little work. The farm consisted of a two-storey building built of local stone, with a slate roof. A barn and a couple of outbuildings stood to one side. It looked abandoned, cold and grey. The stone was damp with mildew near to the ground. Small, dirty windows gazed blindly over the long clumped grass, and a mud patch barred their way.
Adam shivered. He was just beginning to wonder if he was wasting his time when he saw a scribble of smoke issuing from one of the chimneys.
‘I’ll turn the horse round in case we need to make a quick retreat, then I’ll join you, sir. I doubt if you’ll be long unless you have something in your pocket for Fenn to profit from. And if you have, keep your hand on it.’
Ham was right. Fenn, a powerfully built man, opened the door to his knock and gazed at him, his face surly. ‘What is it you want?’
Adam didn’t bother with any niceties. ‘I’m looking for a girl who used to live here with Christopher and Emmy Fenn.’
The man stared at him, his eyes all at once wary. ‘What’s that to do with you?’
‘They were your relatives, were they not?’
‘Doesn’t mean to say I knew them.’
‘I’ve been told that you moved in with them.’
‘If it’s any of your business I came to help with the farm at my cousin’s request. They died not long after, and they was taken away and buried. Cost me a pretty penny, it did, but I inherited the farm, all clear and above board, me being the only relative.’
‘Did all three of the children die?’
His eyes shifted sideways and he shrugged. ‘I reckon there was only two kids in the family, mister. One of them were a lad, the other were a female. They were skinny, sickly brats.’
‘I didn’t suggest there were more kin, but rather that there was an orphan child in their care. Think carefully, Mr Fenn . . . the second girl was about twelve years of age.’
A thin woman of about thirty with stringy hair stuck her head round the door and said, ‘Who is it, Tyler?’
‘Mind your own bleddy business and get inside,’ he snarled.
Fenn turned, and was about to follow her when Adam said, ‘I’m acting on behalf of relatives . . . there’s a reward for information leading to her whereabouts.’
The man chewed the inside of his cheek as he contemplated him, then he said, ‘How much is the reward?’
Adam lowered his initial figure to a quarter of the amount, simply because he didn’t like the man. ‘A pound.’
Fenn nodded. ‘Come to think on it there was another girl here, a dirty, ragged little brat . . . a servant, she were.’
When Fenn paused, Adam asked him, ‘What happened to her?’
The man cupped his ear. ‘How much did you say that reward was?’
‘It depends if the information I’m given has enough truth in it for me to regard it as plausible.’
Fenn’s voice rose, and Adam was relieved when he saw Ham edge into his side vision. ‘Calling me a liar, are you?’
‘No . . . are you one?’
When the man’s attitude became pugnacious Adam knew he risked getting his nose flattened. He’d be sorry if he did because it was a rather handsome nose, or so his mother had told him. He was not a coward, but he was not the type of man who employed brute strength to settle an argument either, unless his back was to the wall. He’d rather use his wits.
‘Just for that I want double what you’re offering. And I’ll want it up front before you get anything out of me, mister. Take it or leave it.’
Adam was quite happy to take it, though he didn’t show it. He took the money out, kept a firm grip on it and sent the man a look of enquiry. ‘Well?’
The aggrieved Fenn said, ‘That girl weren’t my responsibility, and I didn’t want the brat hanging around here calling the place home and pretending she was my relative when she wasn’t. But I made sure she was all right. I took her over to Wiltshire and left her on the doorstep of Northfield workhouse at Yatesbury.’
Adam placed the reward money in the man’s hand and it disappeared into his pocket. When Fenn spat on his hands Ham loudly cleared his throat and Fenn’s sour glance went to the younger man. Ham, who was of similar size but considerably younger and fitter, was now slapping a stout stick against his palm.
Fenn’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. ‘And that’s all you’re getting out of me, so bugger off the pair of you, and don’t come back unless you want an arse full of buckshot!’ The door slammed in Adam’s face and the bolt was shot.
Far from being annoyed, Adam smiled as he navigated the mud puddle back to the road with Ham in tow. Fenn had delivered a useful mouthful for his money, and now there was an unexpected and interesting twist to the puzzle. Which of the two females had survived, the Fenn girl or the unfortunate daughter of Erasmus Thornton?
‘I thought Fenn were going to hit you, sir,’ Ham said.
‘So did I. Thank you for standing at my side.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t willing to fetch mesself a clout on the beak from Fenn. I just reckoned you might need someone to carry you out of there.’
Adam grinned when Ham cackled with laughter. ‘Do you know where the Northfield workhouse is in Wiltshire?’
‘Reckon I do.’ He gazed at the lowering sky in a calculating manner. ‘’Tis best for the nag if we go in the morning, sir. It’s quite a step, and this mist will only get thicker. Fancy’s willing, but her old bones do ache in this weather unless she’s tucked in her stall early . . . isn’t that right, my sweetheart?’
The horse turned her head, tossed her head and flapped her whiskery lips at him.
‘There, didn’t I tell you, sir. I reckon my mam can give you a meal and a bed for the night. She’d be right happy to have a visitor, though she doesn’t say much.’
Just to make sure that the Fenn in residence had been telling him the truth, they stopped to visit the grave of the former Fenn family on the way home. They lay in the same grave. Christopher. Emily. Jeffrey and Mary, aged eleven and twelve. The grave saddened him.
Ham’s mam greeted him with a toothy grin, and her pleasure at the unusual event was evident in the tuneless song she sang as she hurried around him, laying out her best bits of china and lace for his use.
A small girl was tucked up on the day bed, her cheeks flushed. ‘My mam’s looking after her for my sister. It’s nothing much. The doctor said she’s got a rash, but it isn’t much of one and she’ll be better in a day or two. My niece’s name be Annie, ain’t it my darlin’?’
She had fair curls. ‘Hello, Annie,’ he said giving her a smile.
The child gazed shyly at him and whispered, ‘Hello.’ The rash she had was barely discernable.
Mother Thomas’s hospitality was boundless. In her spotlessly clean and aromatic cottage, Adam’s stomach was filled with lamb stew and dumplings, followed by a huge slice of pie brimming with apples and covered in creamy blobs of custard.
He went to bed in the whitewashed upstairs room, where apples on the windowsill were lined up in an orderly row. He had to bend his head if he wanted to stand upright, lest he crack his head on a beam.
He tried to imagine his own mother being so hospitable with so few conveniences, and couldn’t. His mother would consider this tiny cottage little more than a hovel . . . and Ham’s mother, who was prematurely aged from a life of hard work, her social opposite. Which of course, she was. But Ham’s mother was a sweet, generous woman all the same, and Adam felt comfortable in her home, and glad that the world was filled with people like her and her son. Groaning with food he fell asleep instantly.
They left at dawn the next day. The morning was crisp with frost, and the high roof of the sky gradually brightened into pink and gold stripes before fading into blue and white stip
ples. They took with them a basket containing a breakfast of ham, boiled eggs, cheese and a hunk of newly baked bread.
Ham and his mother had been agreeable hosts who found pleasure in the simple things of life. Adam was sorry to part with Ham, though he compensated him handsomely for both his and his mother’s services. He bought a rag doll for Ham to take home for Annie, before he watched horse and cart plod off back towards home.
At the workhouse he learned that a girl called Sara Finn had been left on the doorstep. They had kept her for two years. Then Reverend Pawley, who’d been responsible for the spiritual welfare of the inmates, had been offered a parish and needed a new governess and a maid of all work.
Elizabeth Agar, who worked in the schoolroom, had applied for the job. Elizabeth suggested that Sara Finn go with them, because she was a clever child who could help tutor the reverend’s younger children in their letters.
‘Are you sure Sara’s surname was Finn, and not Fenn?’ he asked the matron.
‘It could have been Fenn, I suppose. Sometimes we have to take their word for it that they give us the right name, and we don’t always spell them right. I’ve heard that Sara has moved on from there and has got a good position somewhere else. You should visit Elizabeth Agar, she’d know . . . though she’s Mrs Pawley now. She married the reverend. He probably married her to save paying her wages after his wife passed on. He was always a mean old sod.’
Adam experienced relief that the young woman he sought had found a decent situation. He couldn’t imagine what it was like being an orphaned child who was suddenly without friends or family.
Hiring a chestnut gelding he presented himself at the small manor house where the Reverend Pawley resided, and gave his card to the maid who opened the door.
Was this pale-faced little waif Serafina? No, she bore no resemblance to the Honeyman girls. Moreover, Serafina would be a young woman of eighteen by now, he reminded himself. This one was several years younger.
He was invited into the drawing room where a woman waited. ‘My husband is not at home. I’m Elizabeth Pawley. Can I help you?’
So this was the woman who’d befriended Serafina in the workhouse. She was plainly dressed, and fair of face without being pretty. He smiled at her. ‘I’m looking for a young woman called Sara Finn.’
Brown eyes engaged his. Her voice was low and cultured. ‘Why are you looking for Sara?’
‘I’m being hired to by a man who thinks he might be her father.’
She sucked in a breath. ‘Only thinks . . . doesn’t he know?’
‘He’s not sure.’
‘He waited a long time to look for her.’
‘Because he thought she was dead. The situation is too complicated to explain.’
‘I would hate to see Sara hurt. What if it turns out that she isn’t his daughter?’
‘I can’t shield her from that sort of disappointment. She’s eighteen years old and will have to come to terms with it.’ When a doubtful look crossed Elizabeth Pawley’s face, he said, ‘What if Sara is his daughter? Doesn’t the very fact that I’m looking for her suggest that there might be some truth in it?’
‘Yes . . . of course.’ She sighed. ‘Sara left here after a disagreement with my husband. I gave her a good reference and she’s now working for a friend of an acquaintance of mine. It’s a good position as a housekeeper.’ Crossing to a desk she took a piece of paper, wrote down a name and address and handed it to him.
‘She lives in Somerset. Leighton Manor is about two miles past the railway station in Taunton, I understand.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Pawley. If it will stop you worrying, at the moment I’m just trying to establish the fact of who she is. I have no intention of barging in on her. It might be several months until contact can be made, because the man seeking her is away at sea. There are other family members to consider too, so I’d be obliged if you would keep this to yourself.’
She nodded.
‘Oh, by the way, did you ever hear Miss Finn refer to herself as Serafina?’
Elizabeth Pawley’s only reaction was genuine puzzlement. ‘No, never.’ She shrugged then said hesitantly, ‘What are they like . . . her family?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Sara was different to most girls who were in the workhouse. Although she was poorly dressed, she’d had an early education which had formed her manner of speaking, and which had given her a thirst for knowledge. She had a good mind, one that retained everything she read.’
‘Sara remembered being educated early in life?’
‘She didn’t have to. You can always tell when somebody has absorbed the basic learning skills. They are a joy to teach since they tend to be more curious about things. They’re also more confident with letters and numbers, and able to think for themselves. There was nothing missish about Sara Finn. She was a hard worker, straightforward and practical.’ Elizabeth Pawley smiled. ‘Sara had a fine intellect though, one that led her into debate inappropriately on occasion, since she often spoke without thinking.’
Charlotte and Marianne came to mind and Adam wanted to laugh. It sounded like a family trait. ‘The families involved are in trade . . . her prospective father is in shipping.’ Adam picked up his hat. ‘I must go now. Would you like me to keep you informed of my progress?’
She gave a faint smile. ‘That’s kind of you, Mr Chapman, but there’s really no need, and my husband wouldn’t approve.’
‘Oh . . . why is that?’
Mrs Pawley managed an amused chuckle. ‘He doesn’t think Sara is suitably grateful for his earlier patronage.’
‘And is she?’
She smiled gently at him. ‘I’m sure Sara will find a way to inform me should something out of the ordinary happen in her life. You don’t have to worry that I’ll repeat this conversation to her, either. I’d not like to see her hopes elevated, then come to nothing.’
Sara Finn must be a very special girl to have made a good friend like Elizabeth Pawley, Adam thought as he left.
He hesitated, because he’d woken up that morning with a slight dryness to his throat. Still, it was mild, and another day wouldn’t make much difference. He must try and get a look at the girl while he was here. Taunton was not too far away, and another day or two could see his curiosity satisfied.
Seven
There was an atmosphere of tension in his house. Finch could smell it in the air, like smoke from a fire that barely smouldered but had not yet ignited.
He stood in the hall, listening. For what, he didn’t know . . . the sound of a breath in a corner perhaps, a footfall on the stair or a creak of someone rising from a chair.
He was just about to relax when there came a crash from upstairs and a scream of anger. ‘Take it away, you stupid fool! I asked for tea, not coffee. Now clean that mess up.’
Fanny’s voice brayed with fright. ‘There was no need to do that, Miss. You’ve broken it. I’ll get into trouble.’
‘It serves you right, and don’t answer me back.’ The sound of a vicious slap was followed by a yelp.
Someone was expelled in a rush from the door to the kitchen. Sara Finn, he thought, something confirmed when she whispered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘nasty little witch!’ under her breath as she propelled herself past him, clad in a cloud of lavender polish. She was travelling fast and her footsteps changed to a whisper on the thick stair carpet.
Finch was about to wonder why she hadn’t noticed him, when he realized that the clock had chimed a quarter past the hour just after he let himself in, and the hall would be in darkness.
Oscar was still outside fetching the luggage from the cab that had delivered them from the station, for they’d caught the afternoon train instead of the morning one. This time, at least, there had been no obstacle in the porch.
Finch followed after Sara up the stairs and towards the guest rooms.
Fanny’s voice was thick with tears. ‘I didn’t throw it, Miss.’
Sara soothed the distre
ssed maid. ‘I know you didn’t, Fanny. You go down and help Maggie in the kitchen. I’ll clear up the mess.’
‘I don’t know what Mr Leighton will say . . . that was part of his best tea service.’
‘I’ll tell him that it wasn’t your fault.’
There was a light laugh, followed by Frederick’s voice. ‘Are you suggesting that my sister threw it, that it’s her fault?’
‘I know what I heard, Mr Milson. There was no need to hit Fanny.’
‘I’ll slap you as well if you don’t keep your place.’
Sara Finn said, and with a dramatic menace that made Finch smile involuntarily despite his annoyance, ‘I’m not Fanny. Slap me and I’ll slap you back.’
‘Then you’ll be dismissed without a reference.’
‘Not when Mr Leighton learns the truth. He’s a fair man.’
‘Try and convince my uncle that Jane did anything wrong. He’s not going to take a servant’s word over ours.’
‘Luckily I don’t have to make that choice since I heard exactly what went on,’ Finch said from the doorway. ‘Thank you, Fanny . . . Sara. Both of you may go downstairs.’
‘But the mess—’
‘Will be picked up by the person who caused it in the first place. Jane, when you’ve done that, I expect to see you in my study. You too, Frederick.’
Fanny scuttled off and Sara followed her reluctantly, giving a faint, exasperated sigh. Finch gave a faint grin. She was bristling to do battle, and it must have been Sara he’d smelled burning. She would just have to smoulder while she waited her turn.
‘Must I, Uncle?’ Frederick drawled. ‘Jane didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘I have no intention of discussing the matter further now. Five o’clock in my study, understood? It will give everyone time to cool down.’
‘Oh God! We’re much too old to suffer an official reprimand.’
‘It’s a pity you don’t act it then.’ He hardened his voice. ‘Five o’clock in my study.’
Another smell wafted to his nostrils. ‘Do you have those dogs up here? You know they’re to be kept in the stables when you’re not out walking with them. The last time you brought them I tripped over one and I nearly fell down the stairs.’
