by Dilly Court
After a quick inspection, Kate found that her clothes had been put away neatly in a roughly constructed beech-wood chest, but there was neither a dressing table nor a mirror. She sat down on the edge of the truckle bed, grimacing at the hardness of the flock-filled mattress and the coarseness of the cotton sheets. She lay down, fully clothed, and wrapped herself in the coverlet. Cobwebs hung like grey lace from the rafters above her head and she closed her eyes, trying hard not to cry, but hot tears forced their way between her eyelids, cooling rapidly as they ran down her cheeks. She tried to force the memory of the precious hours seated opposite Harry in the first class compartment to the back of her mind, but she could still see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and hear the deep tones of his voice. Try as she might, she could not conjure up the louche, arrogant Harry Challenor she had met in the Soho Bazaar. That person might have existed in London society, but he was quite different from the man she had come to know.
She curled up in a ball beneath the thin coverlet. Allowing him to invade her thoughts would lead to misery and maybe even madness. He had taken Josie back to Damerell Manor, and Sir Joseph would almost inevitably see his actions as a declaration of his intent to marry her. This was the stark reality and she would have to deal with it as best she could.
She awakened early next morning. It was bitterly cold in her room even though winter was gradually giving way to a reluctant spring. She slipped off her crumpled gown and put on her old, serviceable working clothes. She tucked her hair into a cotton mobcap and pulled on her boots before making her way downstairs to the kitchen. The fire in the range was not quite out, and she riddled the ashes, adding some dry kindling and using the bellows to coax the embers into flame. When she had a good blaze going, she took a bucket from the scullery and went out into the yard to fetch water from the pump. She could hear the cows lowing in the barn and she guessed that Sam must have arrived to begin milking. At least that was one chore she would be able to take off his shoulders now that she was home.
Trudging back across the yard, Kate glanced up at her father’s bedroom window. The curtains were drawn and there was no telltale chink of light to suggest that he was up and about. She had been awakened in the night by the strange sound of a baby crying, and it had taken her a few moments to realise that it was her tiny half-brother who was making all that noise. She knew she ought to feel something for a child who was related to her by blood, but somehow she could not summon up any enthusiasm for Honoria’s baby. Perhaps she would grow to love him. She turned her head as she heard the muffled sound of approaching footsteps, and she saw Molly hurrying towards her, red-cheeked from exertion and panting. ‘I’m late. I overslept and Sam didn’t wake me.’
‘Don’t worry. I seem to be the only one who is up, and I’ve seen to the fire. Come inside, Molly. We’ll have a nice hot cup of tea.’ Kate picked up the bucket of water and hooked her free arm around Molly’s shoulders.
‘Don’t never go away again, Kate,’ Molly said, shivering. ‘Promise you won’t leave us.’
‘I won’t leave you, Molly.’
‘And you’ll tell that old hag a few home truths?’
‘That too.’
Later that morning, when Kate entered her father’s bedroom, she found Honoria sitting up in bed with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and the baby suckling at her breast. Her expression was not welcoming. ‘So you’ve deigned to return home.’
‘Good morning, Honoria. How are you this morning?’
‘Don’t use that saucy tone with me, young lady. And don’t put on airs just because you’ve been mixing with people above your station. You’re home now and you’ll have to learn your place.’
‘I’m still my father’s daughter, Honoria.’
‘And this is my son, your baby brother. Aren’t you happy to see him?’ Honoria’s eyes issued a challenge even as her lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. She stroked the baby’s downy head. ‘He is a fine boy. See how he feeds on my milk. Soon he will be big and strong and he will inherit the farm.’
‘The farm belongs to the Damerell estate. Your son will never own it.’
Honoria’s lips tightened into a pencil-thin line. ‘And you will remain a poor spinster for the rest of your days. You should have taken up Squire Westwood’s offer. At least you would have had a roof over your head, and I’m sure he would have been very generous, providing you kept a civil tongue in your head.’
‘Why don’t you say what you really mean, Honoria? You want me out of this house, don’t you?’
‘Yes, between you and me, that is exactly what I want. There is not room enough here for both of us.’
‘My father would have something to say about that.’
‘Don’t try to come between a man and his wife, my dear. I have weapons that you do not possess.’
‘I don’t doubt it, and I have too much respect for my father to want to make him unhappy. But you had no right to turn me out of my room.’
Honoria shifted the baby to the other breast. ‘I’ve every right. As an unmarried daughter you have no say in anything. You are a nobody.’
‘My father doesn’t think so.’
‘Robert agrees with everything I say. I can do no wrong, and I must not be upset or my milk will dry up. Don’t try and fight me, my girl, for it is you who will come off the worst. Now stop bothering me and go about your business on the farm. Send Molly up with my breakfast. I want tea and toast, butter and honey too.’
‘You can treat me as you please, Honoria. But I won’t allow you to bully Molly. She has been like a sister to me and she deserves better.’
Honoria curled her lip. ‘Well, you two sisters might find yourselves living together in the poorhouse if you continue to cross me. Now do as I say, and send Tilda to me as well. Baby needs changing and putting down for his nap.’
Biting back a sharp retort, Kate made a hurried exit. She went to knock on Tilda’s door, and without waiting for a reply she opened it and walked into the room – her room. Tilda was standing in front of the dressing table admiring her reflection in the mirror. She turned with a guilty start and her hand flew to the string of beads at her throat.
‘You little thief,’ Kate cried in horror. ‘That’s my necklace. Take it off this instant.’
Tilda’s eyes widened in fear as Kate advanced towards her. She fumbled with the clasp at the back of her neck. ‘I found it. I didn’t know it was yours.’
‘You’re lying. My mother gave me that string of beads, and it was in my dressing table drawer. Molly must have missed it when she took my things up to the attic, unless you had found it first and intended to keep it for yourself.’
‘No, miss. Honestly, I found it in the back of the drawer. I was just trying it on.’ Tilda’s fingers trembled as she handed the necklace to Kate. ‘Take it. What do I want with glass beads, anyway?’
Kate snatched it from her. ‘You have no right to be in this room in the first place, and if you ever touch any of my things again I’ll see that you are dismissed.’ She had not meant to blurt that out. None of this was Tilda’s fault, but seeing her with Ma’s necklace, even if it was only made out of cheap glass beads, had made something snap inside her.
‘The mistress put me in here. It weren’t my fault.’ Tilda’s small eyes glittered with cunning. ‘I’ll tell her that you want your room back, shall I, miss?’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort.’ Kate made a move towards the door. ‘She wants you. Go to her. That’s what I came to say.’
‘Now you know how it feels,’ Tilda said, sidling past Kate. ‘Being treated like a servant ain’t no fun, is it, miss?’ She shot out of the room and ran along the landing, turning her head and poking out her tongue as she reached Honoria’s door.
Kate ignored the gesture, slipping the beads into her pocket with a sigh as she went downstairs to the kitchen to pass Honoria’s order for breakfast onto Molly.
‘I’ll give her tea and toast,’ Molly said, hacki
ng at the loaf. ‘And I’d like to stick her head in the hive and let the dumbledores sting her to pieces.’
An involuntary chuckle escaped from Kate’s lips, relieving the hard knot of anger that had stuck in her throat. Molly, who was normally so quiet and gentle, was attacking the bread like an avenging angel. She looked up at Kate and frowned. ‘Have I said something funny?’
Kate shook her head. ‘No, Molly dear. It’s just that I’ve never seen you so angry, but it’s not at all funny. If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.’
‘That’s what makes me so mad,’ Molly said, brandishing the knife. ‘She can say what she likes to me, but the old cow is treating you worse than a slave. I can’t stand by and watch it, Kate.’
‘Don’t upset yourself, Molly. I have broad shoulders and I’ll deal with Honoria in my own way. In the meantime, I suggest you toast that bread and take up her breakfast tray. I’m going out to collect the eggs.’
Molly muttered something unintelligible as she jabbed the toasting fork into the bread. Kate took her workaday fustian jacket from its peg and shrugged it on. She slipped her booted feet into her pattens before venturing out into the muddy farmyard. As she made her way to the hen house she knew that life was going to be difficult from here on. She was tempted to seek out her father and put her case to him, but she knew in her heart that Honoria was right in her assumption that he would take her side. Pa was no longer a grieving widower dependent on his daughter for everything. He was a middle-aged man who was besotted with a younger woman, and she had given him a son. No longer a mere housekeeper, Honoria was now revelling in her position as wife and mother, and she had made it clear that she did not want a rival for her husband’s affection.
As Kate moved about the hen house collecting the eggs, she realised that her options were limited. If she stayed at home she would have to put up with Honoria’s machinations and snubs, in the hope that her stepmother would eventually tire and call a truce. She had considered applying for the teacher’s job at the village school but Miss Winter was relatively young and likely to remain there for years. The only other alternative would be to accept the squire’s offer of a position at Westwood Grange. As her fingers explored the straw, feeling for the warm oval of a newly laid egg, Kate felt as though her world was splintering around her like shards of broken glass. She really was, as Harry had said, Miss Nobody. Even remembering the way he had teased her at their first meeting was enough to shoot an arrow of pain through her heart. She had tried hard to dislike him, but she had failed miserably. She put the last egg in the basket and straightened up.
‘I thought I’d find you in here.’ Sam stood in the doorway grinning at her.
She smiled. Dear Sam; so solid and dependable. She was suddenly overcome with emotion. ‘Oh, Sam. What would I do without you?’
‘There, there, maidy. What brought this on?’
She shook her head, unable to speak.
His dark eyes flashed with anger. ‘Don’t tell me. It’s that old besom, Honoria. I knowed she was going to cause trouble the moment I set eyes on her. ‘Tis a great pity she didn’t go off with that big burly army sergeant who was sweet on her afore she got her claws into your pa.’
Momentarily diverted, Kate blinked and swallowed hard. ‘What army sergeant? I didn’t know about that, Sam.’
‘Well, it might just have been tittle-tattle, but as I heard it she thought he was going to pop the question, but his regiment was sent away somewhere. I reckon he had a lucky escape meself.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s probably just gossip, Sam. Anyway, I don’t care about her. At least I’ve got you and Molly on my side. Honoria has Pa exactly where she wants him for now, but he’ll come round eventually. I’m sure he will.’
‘Eventually won’t do, maidy. I’ll not stand by and see you treated worse than a servant in your own home.’ He grabbed her by the hand. ‘Come with me. We’ll go and find the gaffer. Last time I saw him he was in the hay barn. At least we can talk to him there without her eavesdropping, or that stuck-up Tilda spying on us.’
‘But the eggs,’ Kate protested.
‘Leave them for now. They won’t come to no harm, and this is more important than a few eggs.’ Taking her firmly by the hand, he led her out of the hen house and across the yard. A pale, watery sun had filtered through the clouds and there were brush strokes of blue in the sky.
They were nearing the barn when a shout from the lane made Sam stop and turn his head. Above the hedge Kate could just see the crown of a coachman’s hat and the ruddy cheeks of Smith, the Damerells’ coachman. He waved his hand as he drew the sturdy horse to a halt outside the farm gates. ‘Miss Kate. I’ve got a message from the big house.’
Kate clutched her jacket tightly around her body as a spiteful wind plucked at her clothing and dragged tendrils of hair from beneath her mobcap. ‘What is it, Mr Smith?’
‘Miss Josie wants to see you, miss. She said I was to bring you to the manor house right away, and no nonsense.’
That sounded so like Josie that Kate smiled. ‘I’m busy, Mr Smith. It can’t be that urgent. Please tell her that I’ll come later. Sam will bring me in the trap.’
Smith shook his head. ‘She won’t like it, miss. You know what Miss Josie’s like when she gets an idea into her head.’
Sam tapped Kate on the shoulder and when she turned to him she saw something akin to desperation in his eyes. ‘Let me take you there. We can be back before the gaffer misses us.’
Kate looked from one to the other, undecided. Surely nothing much could have changed since yesterday? And then Harry’s words came back to her. Josie had told him that she had eloped with Sam. When challenged, Josie had passed the whole thing off as a joke, and Kate had accepted her explanation at face value. Now Josie was commanding her to attend, as if she were royalty. Kate turned to Sam. ‘Fetch the pony and trap. I’ve got a few choice words to say to Miss Damerell.’
Chapter Eighteen
JOSIE PACED THE floor, pausing at each of the four tall windows in the drawing room to gaze out at the carriage sweep and the tree-lined avenue. Despite the wild March winds, there was a faint haze of copper-coloured buds on the beech trees, and beneath them a sea of golden daffodils swayed and bowed like courtiers anticipating the arrival of a monarch.
Where was Kate? Smith had returned with the barouche but he had not stopped outside the house as she had expected, and had driven on towards the coach house. Surely he would send word if Kate had refused to accompany him? She bit her lip, drumming her fingers on the windowsill. She wondered if Kate was angry with her after Harry’s revelation yesterday. But she had seemed to accept that it was all a joke, and not meant to be taken seriously. Josie could not bear to admit, even to herself, that she had uttered the lies in a fit of pique. Even so, Kate would forgive her. She always had in the past and there was no reason to suppose that she had changed.
Wrapping her arms around her body, Josie began to pace the floor between the windows. If Kate brought the matter up she would have to apologise again, and say that it had all been a silly misunderstanding. It was all in the past, and today she longed to share her good news with her friend. She also wanted to let Sam know of her engagement before the servants had a chance to spread the glad tidings around the village. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Lies were like a spider’s web; they had a habit of entangling the perpetrator in their silken threads.
Come what may, she had sealed her own fate last night when Harry had finally proposed. She sighed, rubbing her hand across her temples. If she were to be honest he had not exactly asked her to marry him, but the result was the same. The cigar band on the ring finger of her left hand was proof that they were engaged, but it was she herself who had put it there. Did that count? She tugged it off and tossed it into the fire, watching the tiny paper band curl up and turn to ashes as she recalled the scene at dinner the previous evening.
Joseph had invited Harry to dine with them and Squire Westwood was also one of th
e guests at dinner. Tired, nervous and desperate, Josie had drunk rather too much wine during the meal. It had gone to her head, making her reckless enough to refuse to leave when her mother and Hermione retired to the drawing room. She had been flirting with Harry all evening, making it perfectly plain to all those present that she encouraged his attentions, and when Toop brought in the box of Havana cigars she had insisted on choosing one for Harry. Sir Joseph had laughed at her antics, telling her how much he had missed her lively company, but Squire Westwood had remained poker-faced and disapproving. Harry had been amused by her unconventional behaviour, but had done his best to turn the conversation to matters of business which would have excluded her completely. The prospect of living under her uncle’s roof once again and dwindling into an unwanted and unloved spinster was too awful to contemplate. She had moved closer to Harry, sitting on the edge of his chair. She had slipped the cigar band onto her finger and held it up for him to see. ‘Does this mean that we are engaged, Harry?’
She felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she recalled the startled look on his face. He had attempted to laugh it off, but she had leapt to her feet, holding her hand high. ‘Look, everyone. Harry and I are engaged to be married. Isn’t that splendid?’
He had been too much of a gentleman to embarrass her by a denial, and Sir Joseph had sent for champagne to celebrate the good news. Squire Westwood had offered his congratulations, although she had seen the look of disapproval in his eyes. He knew that she had tricked Harry, but Sir Joseph was too drunk to have seen through her ruse, and was patently delighted. He might have inherited the title, but Harry had the business connections and the money. Even in her tipsy state, Josie had seen her uncle’s eyes gleaming with avarice.
