Christina Hollis

by Lady Rascal

  She sighed into the silence of the early dawn. Why did he have to be so good? Losing him to Leonora or any other honest girl would have been so much easier if he had been a rampaging rat.

  ‘If you’ve told Bella to keep quiet then that’s the least of my worries, Master Philip.’ Madeleine drew the coverlet around her shoulders and turned towards the house. ‘You can escort me back, then go straight to bed yourself, sir. A good sleep in what little night is left will put this whole business into proportion.’

  He seemed to find her attitude unfathomable. When he spoke again his voice was dull with foreboding.

  ‘I’ll make sure that Bella doesn’t have the opportunity to shame you in front of Mother—but will you tell?’

  Madeleine went to his side and slipped her hand into his. If only she hadn’t let her heart rule her head.

  ‘What about? There’s nothing to tell. Kisses in a garden, that’s all. It’s only a shame I didn’t get to hear your nightingale, Master Philip.’

  Gathering the coverlet about her shoulders, Madeleine set off across the dew-damp grass and back to the outside stairs. When he did not follow immediately, she looked back at him.

  ‘Unless, of course, the nightingale story was another trick, like the cows?’ She was walking backwards and giggling softly. Adamson did not reply, but gave an eloquent shrug.

  ‘Let me tell you—the truth’s often less tricky, Master Philip!’ She whispered with feeling. ‘I declare— I’m more than half asleep already. What’s the betting neither of us remembers anything about this tomorrow morning?’ After mounting the first step, she turned back to him. He was still a little way behind, following uncertainly. Even her smile could do nothing to cheer him up.

  When they reached the privacy of the upstairs hall again Madeleine expected a further exchange. Instead, Adamson merely wished her a murmured goodnight and walked quickly to his room.

  She let him go. She was feeling guilty enough about making him cheat on Leonora once, without pressing him to further indiscretions.

  Adamson was surly and remote the next morning at breakfast. As soon as they could, Mistress Constance and Madeleine escaped to the dairy work.

  Willowbury seemed a regular warren of corridors, steps and corners to Madeleine. Worse still, they seemed to acquire a larger and larger following of dogs the further they went through the house.

  At last they all reached the kitchen. After she had struggled through a few kind English words with Betsy and Cook, Madeleine followed Mistress Constance out into the yard.

  The dogs tumbled and barked around them until they could hardly hear themselves think. Madeleine tried to keep her hands away from the wet noses and dribbling pink tongues, but dogs of every shape, size and colour leapt about her.

  Mistress Constance went towards a trio of low sheds surrounded by iron railings. At once the dogs cowered down and scuttled after her. They bundled into their kennels without delay, and Madeleine heaved a sigh of relief as they were shut inside.

  ‘I don’t know why we have to keep so many. Willowbury has dogs the way other places have mice!’ Mistress Constance laughed.

  She led Madeleine into the dairy. This was a large, airy building on one side of the yard. Thick walls and a flagged floor meant an even temperature all year round. Even though the morning was already warm and a large fire burned in the grate, the dairy was pleasantly cool.

  Milk had been left in shallow setting pans for the cream to rise and ripen. Madeleine’s first task was to skim off the cream and tip it into the butter churn. Then the remaining milk went to the kitchen, and Madeleine was shown how to scrub out the setting pans ready for the next batch of milk.

  Mistress Constance was about to explain the mysteries of butter-making when there came the sound of a vehicle swinging into the yard at high speed and screeching to a halt.

  ‘Oh, my goodness! I completely forgot!’ Mistress Constance clapped both hands to her face in horror. ‘Jack offered to keep an eye on the house while we were away. I forgot to send word we were back!’

  Scampering off like a nervous pullet, Mistress Constance disappeared in a flounce of petticoats and ribbons. Madeleine followed her out into the yard and saw a fair-haired young man leap down from a very flashy cart.

  Waiting quietly while Mistress Constance made her apologies, Madeleine felt the newcomer studying her. She looked back openly, noticing his kind features and ready laughter.

  After shrugging off Mistress Constance’s stream of English with a smile, the young man turned his full attention on Madeleine.

  ‘Enchanted, mademoiselle.’ He bowed, then introduced himself in faultless French. His name was Jack Pritchard, who after studying medicine alongside Adamson had become the local doctor.

  ‘I trust Philip has told you all about me?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Madeleine wondered at the tone of his voice.

  ‘Then he should have done. Philip and I have been friends for a long time, mademoiselle. He is a fine fellow.’

  The direct gaze he was quizzing her with told Madeleine a lot about Jack Pritchard. He looked both knowing and inquisitive, and she sensed she would have to be on her guard.

  Jack stayed for lunch. While he was charming company, the same could not be said of his friend. A difficult night followed by a morning spent milking cows, feeding pigs and mending fences had left Philip Adamson with little energy for conversation.

  Several times Jack commented on how quiet his friend was, laughing with Madeleine at Adamson’s reticence. She imagined how guilty he must be feeling after their night-time encounter. All she could hope to do was reassure him with an open, sunny attitude even if she was feeling as much to blame.

  Adamson did not even join in the light-hearted teasing about Madeleine’s hearty appetite.

  ‘At least you don’t look as frail as when we first met, Madeleine, dear!’ Mistress Constance said, to her son’s evident discomfort.

  ‘The food has been so nice that I’m filling out by the day, Master Jack!’ Madeleine laughed. ‘And in all the right places, too!’ she added proudly.

  Mistress Constance threw her hands over her face in horror. ‘Madeleine, really!’

  ‘It’s true, madame! I was as flat as a plank. Now at least I’m beginning to look like a girl again—’

  Philip Adamson was already engrossed in studying the ceiling. Now his friend looked away sharply as Mistress Constance squeezed Madeleine’s arm.

  ‘Ssh! My dear, such things might well be thought suitable for conversation among the French, but they are certainly not welcome here!’

  Madeleine was not to be put off. ‘But these gentlemen are doctors, madame. They know all about such things!’

  Mistress Constance fairly bounced out of her seat in dismay. ‘Madeleine! Go to your room at once! I won’t have such loose talk in the presence of gentlemen!’

  Crimson with shame, Madeleine stood up, bobbed a curtsy and rushed out of the room.

  She fully expected to be packed off to France again in disgrace after such a disaster. Locking herself in the pretty little pink and white bedroom, she sat and waited for the death sentence.

  The wait was not a long one. Within half an hour a knock came at the door. It was Jack Pritchard.

  ‘Official business.’ He brandished his doctor’s bag when Madeleine opened the door. ‘It’s amazing where playing the caring physician can get me,’ he mused, entering and looking about the room as Madeleine closed the door behind him.

  ‘I’m not sick,’ she said crossly.

  ‘I didn’t say you were. This was just an excuse to get you on your own, Mademoiselle Madeleine. Firstly—an item of good news. In your absence invitations have arrived for a tea-drinking at Highlands—the Pettigrews’ place. You’re going to a party next week, mademoiselle.’

  He strolled about, picking up items from the dressing-table, putting them down again, then sidling to the window and lifting the festoon.

  ‘Philip’s family has had an awful time of it h
ere lately, what with Michael leaving and then the loss of poor Mr Adamson.’ He turned and looked at Madeleine with piercing blue eyes. ‘Phil tells me that you’ve been kind to him. Make sure that’s all.’

  Madeleine was incensed. She marched up to the doctor with a look so fierce, he dropped the net curtain and was forced to turn and face her.

  ‘Dr Pritchard, I’d be grateful if you didn’t speak to me like that. All I’ve done is listen to him. I’ve seen the way you’ve been studying me—as though I’m nothing better than a fortune-hunter—’ guilt made Madeleine flush at this, but fortunately her anger took the blame for that ‘—but nothing could be further from the truth. You’re his friend. You should be the one he confides in—’

  She paused for breath and Jack took the opportunity to interrupt.

  ‘And who do you think persuaded Mistress Constance to let Phil take a holiday? Oh, I couldn’t stop her tagging along, nor did I want to. I knew Phil would make plenty of time for himself. He might be fond of his mother, but he’s not in her pocket. He probably got up to all sorts in Paris.’

  Jack stared at her for a long time after this. Knowing he was testing her mettle, Madeleine stared right back. At last he turned away to look out of the window once more.

  ‘No matter. If there is anything between you, Phil will tell me soon enough.’

  ‘I may not have known him long, sir,’ Madeleine said quickly, ‘but there is one thing I’ve learned already. Drunk or sober, your friend is very nearly a perfect gentleman.’

  Jack looked back at her over his shoulder. Suddenly his face was wreathed in smiles.

  ‘I know. I’m not, though,’ he added hopefully.

  ‘Then I think I should ask you to leave my room, now, sir,’ Madeleine said quietly. ‘I’m already in disgrace with Mistress Constance for my earlier indiscretion. I don’t need you to make matters worse.’

  Jack let the curtain fall. He was laughing, suspicions forgotten for the present. Picking up his bag, he started off towards the door. Madeleine twisted her fingers, wanting to speak to him again but uncertain of how to begin.

  ‘Don’t worry about apologising to me about that, mademoiselle—it’s Mistress Constance you should talk to. I thought it was a bit of a laugh. Very ill-bred of me, I know, but then I am a doctor, as you so rightly pointed out—’

  ‘Yes,’ Madeleine said suddenly. When Jack looked at her she felt herself squirming almost visibly, and blushed.

  ‘Was there something else, mademoiselle?’

  ‘Yes, there was...’ Madeleine squirmed and blushed even more. ‘That is...Master Jack, will there be dancing at this tea-party?’

  He smiled. ‘Knowing the Pettigrews, there will probably be an opera with tumbling acts to follow!’

  ‘I—I know only French dances, Master Jack. What will happen when I make a fool of myself?’

  ‘You, mademoiselle? I can’t see that happening.’ He laughed, then took her by the hand. ‘My sister Charlotte knows all there is to know about dancing. Her husband’s a Belgian, too—that’s nearly French, isn’t it? It’ll give you the perfect excuse to come visiting. Grab a bonnet and shawl, mademoiselle. You’re about to be whisked away by the fastest driver in Wiltshire!’

  Jack was nearly thwarted in his plan. Objections came not from Mistress Constance, who was delighted that Madeleine would be making friends so quickly, but from a quite unexpected quarter.

  ‘Mademoiselle Madeleine has no business gallivanting about the countryside,’ Adamson said hotly. ‘Her place is here, as Mother’s companion.’

  Mistress Constance merely laughed at his anger. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake let the child have a life of her own, Philip! It won’t be much fun for her if she’s to be cooped up working at Willowbury all the time. I expect she’ll be glad to get out and about!’

  Madeleine and Jack stood their ground in the yard while the little cart was set up. Adamson fumed before them.

  ‘It certainly isn’t decent for a young girl to go travelling about the countryside in a contraption like that, and without a chaperon.’

  ‘At least I’ve got my bonnet on!’ Madeleine stared at him insolently.

  ‘And what more respectable chaperon could a lady have than a country doctor?’ Jack opened the doors of the cart and jumped in. ‘Come on, then, mademoiselle! It’s a tight squeeze, but you can sit on my lap if you like!’

  ‘Jack, really!’

  ‘Only joking, Mistress Constance! Rest assured, the young lady will be quite safe with me!’

  Adamson did deign to help Madeleine up into the little cart, but then he took a firm hold on the horse’s head, determined that his last words would be heard before they left.

  ‘You will be back here by six o’clock at the latest, mademoiselle. Jack is a very busy man, and your idle fancies cannot be allowed to come between him and his work,’ he announced stiffly before turning on his heel and marching off towards the kennels.

  The cart bounced along the drive at a rate of knots, with Madeleine squealing in delight. Once outside the gates, Jack had promised to show her how fast the cart could really travel.

  He paused while Madeleine tied her bonnet on more securely, and that gave her a chance to ask a question.

  ‘Why is Master Philip so miserable this afternoon, Jack?’

  Grinning, he jammed his hat on the back of his head and prepared to hurtle off.

  ‘Oh, I think there’s a good reason, mademoiselle. Just take care that you’re not too eager to find out what it is!’

  At twenty-five minutes past seven Jack edged the cart into the drive of Willowbury.

  ‘If we get caught, just remember—leave all the talking to me.’

  He accepted another cherry from the punnet on Madeleine’s lap then groaned in dismay.

  ‘The welcoming party’s on alert, I see.’

  As they pulled around the final curve of the drive Madeleine looked up to see Philip Adamson silhouetted in one of the upper windows. When, at Jack’s suggestion, they both waved, Adamson turned and disappeared from view.

  By the time Jack had lifted Madeleine out of the cart Adamson was stalking down the steps, hands behind his back.

  ‘Jack? Do you know what time it is?’

  Jack pulled out his pocket watch, shook it violently, frowned, then squinted at the sun.

  ‘About half-past seven, old chap.’

  Ignoring the remark, Adamson turned his attention to Madeleine. She was standing with her back to the cart, wondering if she looked as guilty as she felt.

  ‘Mademoiselle! What is your explanation for being nearly an hour and a half late?’

  His eyes were grey as stone, and as harsh. Madeleine shrivelled under the scrutiny.

  ‘We would have been back by six, no problem, Phil,’ Jack began mildly. ‘Three minutes to, and we were coming up to the Shipton turning—’

  ‘Even you couldn’t have got from there to here in three minutes, Jack.’

  ‘I would have done, if the turning hadn’t been so tight, and the nag hadn’t got new shoes...’

  ‘Another accident, I suppose.’ Adamson looked at his friend icily.

  ‘No harm done, Phil. Honestly! Just a bit of a spill. Bent the nearside wheel a bit handy, though, so of course I had to get it beaten out at the forge...’

  Sensing a slight improvement in Adamson’s temper, Madeleine held out the punnet of cherries to him as a peace-offering. He looked as though he might accept, until he noticed the sorry state of Madeleine’s gloves and the dark patches on her gown.

  ‘Mademoiselle! Are you hurt?’

  ‘It’s only dust, sir. I sort of fell out...’ She bowed her head, hoping he would imagine shame when, like Jack, she was trying not to laugh.

  Unfortunately Adamson caught the look that passed between the two and forgot his concern.

  ‘More work for the staff,’ he said sharply, refusing the cherries. ‘I was present at tea, mademoiselle, and have no appetite left. Perhaps you had better eat them, as Cook cannot
be expected to provide anything until dinner now.’

  Frostily wishing Jack a goodnight, Adamson strode back into the house. As soon as he was out of sight, Jack pulled a face and laughed.

  ‘Do you know what would really cook Phil’s goose now, mademoiselle? Get Higgins to leave those cherries in his room, secretly. That will make him feel so guilty— he’ll be back in good humour again before you know it!’

  Madeleine thanked her new friend, but wondered at the wisdom of his words. As Jack set off for home with a wave she wondered why Philip Adamson couldn’t be as forthcoming as his friend.

  When she remembered his scornful looks at her grubby clothes she wondered if he would ever be forthcoming again at all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sending the cherries to Adamson by way of Higgins seemed to work. While taking care to have as little contact with Madeleine as possible over breakfast, he showed none of the ill humour of the previous evening.

  He left the breakfast table early. When the door was closed safely behind him, Mistress Constance gave Madeleine a quick smile.

  ‘I understand there’s some little difficulty with the staff, dear. That’s what has made him so offhand this morning. No need for you to worry! I’m quite sure Philip will be more in the mood to be friendly when it’s all sorted out!’

  Madeleine wasn’t so sure. A few kisses, even with the matchmaking of Mistress Constance, would hardly win Philip Adamson’s friendship away from the demure Leonora or the more obvious charms of Kitty Pettigrew.

  As they sipped a second cup of tea, Mistress Constance confided that she would be going out for the day, once the dairying was finished. When her tasks were done, Madeleine could have the rest of the day to herself. No details of her employer’s outing were given.

  Madeleine got the feeling that there was more to the mystery trip than met the eye. Later, when she was left alone to finish working the butter while Mistress Constance fluttered off to get ready, her suspicions were confirmed.

  While she was wrapping the butter pats, there came the sound of a pony and trap trotting up towards the front door. Madeleine was not quick enough to see who collected her employer, but she recognised a familiar voice. Mischievously, Madeleine wondered if there was more than mere friendship between Mistress Constance and the Reverend Mr Wright.