‘There, there, my lovely,’ Edward Armstrong held her close, ‘tell your old gramps what ails you. Come along in. Your granny’s waiting with a nice dinner for you. Les will bring your trunk into the house and upstairs to your room.’
Here in the countryside, dinner was the midday meal. Farm labourers who worked from first light needed a substantial meal by then. Tea or supper was taken in the late afternoon or the early evening. Sometimes both. Tea would be at five o’clock in Edward and Martha Armstrong’s house and maybe a light supper at nine o’clock after which they would soon retire to bed, for they rose at six every morning, summer and winter.
Edward Armstrong was in his mid-sixties, a burly, well-built man, still strong and muscular for his age. He had worked hard all his life and continued to do so even now when most folk of his age would be putting their feet up in front of the fire. And he still had quite a head of hair, though it was grey, turning to white, now.
Annabel dried her eyes and smiled wanly at Les Tindall. She had played with Les and his younger sister since she’d been a child and now she could see the anxiety in his eyes when he saw her tears.
‘I’m fine,’ she tried to reassure both men, but her voice trembled and she knew she had not convinced either of them. Les said nothing as he started to unload her trunk. Edward, his arm around her shoulders, led her into the house where her grandmother waited with arms stretched wide in welcome.
Later, after the evening meal, as they sat together before the roaring fire in the kitchen range, Martha took Annabel’s hand, her look warm and loving. ‘Now, my dear, we can see you’re troubled. Won’t you tell us? You know we will keep your confidence.’
Annabel stared into her grandmother’s lovely dark violet eyes; eyes that were so like her own. Now, the once black hair had turned white and wrinkles lined Martha’s face, but her loving nature still shone in her face and a smile rarely left her lips. Had life not pitched her into the class of society it had, Martha could have taken the London Season by storm and, no doubt, would have had a string of suitors. But she had wanted nothing more out of life other than to marry the man she adored, work side by side with him on the farm and bring up their family. They both loved children and had hoped to have a large family but only one child, Sarah, had come along. After her birth, which had been a difficult one, Edward had been advised that there should be no more. Their hopes had been centred on their only daughter; they wanted her to marry a farmer and one day run the farm. But that day had never come, nor would it; Sarah had hated the country life, not seeing beyond the cold, the wet and the long, arduous hours for little return. Her eyes and her heart were closed to the joy of tilling the earth, of watching growth and rebirth every season. She couldn’t appreciate animal husbandry nor find contentment, at the end of a long working day, in watching a glorious sunset. Her sole ambition was to rise in the world and she had spurned the simple life. The meeting between Sarah and Ambrose Constantine had brought together two ruthlessly ambitious minds and now their sole endeavour was to see their daughter married into the upper echelons of society. It was a plan of which Edward and Martha were, as yet, unaware.
‘I know,’ Annabel whispered in reply. ‘But – but you might think badly of me.’
‘Never,’ Edward declared and Martha even chuckled. ‘Whatever it is, my dear, we will stand by you. There’s always a home here with us. You know that.’
Annabel bit her lip and decided that she could confide in them. ‘I – I’ve been meeting a young man, Gilbert, who is – was – employed as under-manager in Father’s offices.’ She hesitated and then took a deep breath. ‘In secret.’
The two elderly people glanced at each other, but they didn’t seem surprised. ‘Why in secret?’ Edward asked.
‘Because Father wouldn’t approve.’
‘Why not? What’s wrong with him – the young man, I mean?’
Annabel smiled wryly. ‘He’s not high enough up the social ladder, Gramps.’
Edward made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of contempt. ‘And who does he want you to marry? Lord Somebody-or-Other, I suppose.’
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’
‘And this young man?’ Martha prompted. ‘How did you meet him?’
‘Father sometimes takes me to the docks and I met Gilbert on one of those visits. He took me round, showed me everything. He was so kind and courteous and when the visit ended, he asked if he might call on me. I – I said I would meet him somewhere as I wasn’t sure what Father would say – although, of course, I did know exactly what would be said – by both Father and Mother. But I didn’t want to hurt Gilbert’s feelings.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been kinder to have refused him there and then?’ Martha said gently.
Annabel sighed. ‘I liked him, Gran. Really liked him – I still do – but I’ve never been allowed to mix with other young people – not girls or boys. I – I suppose I was bowled over by his – attentions.’
‘Aw, lass, you haven’t got yourself into trouble, have you?’ Edward asked, with a break in his voice.
Annabel shook her head and said firmly, ‘No, Gramps, I may be a silly young girl whose head has been turned by the first man to pay compliments to her, but I’m not stupid. He kissed me – yes – but that was all. I promise.’
Edward sighed with obvious relief. ‘In your father’s eyes, I expect even that would be bad enough. Just be careful, love, there’s a good girl.’
Tears sprang to Annabel’s eyes as she blurted out, ‘Gilbert’s gone and I can’t find out what’s happened to him.’
‘What do you mean – gone?’
‘He was supposed to meet me a week ago but he never came. The next day I went to the office with Father but Gilbert wasn’t there. I went again on my own – well, not quite on my own; Jane was with me.’
‘Where is Jane? She usually comes with you.’
Annabel grimaced. ‘She wasn’t allowed to this time.’
‘That’s a pity,’ Martha murmured. ‘I think Les is rather sweet on her and she’s such a help to me in the kitchen.’
‘And what happened on your second visit?’ Edward prompted and Annabel recounted the details ending, ‘The rumour is that he had a big row with the office manager – Mr Smeeton – that he came into some money unexpectedly, and that he’s gone to America. He – he could have said “goodbye” even if he wanted to end our – our friendship.’
She saw the glance that passed between her grandparents and the little nod that Martha gave. Edward took Annabel’s other hand into his huge, calloused paw. She was comforted by his warm touch as he said softly, ‘We guessed you were meeting someone sometimes when you stayed with us.’
Annabel’s tears flowed again. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I – I shouldn’t have deceived you.’
‘You didn’t. You’re a grown young woman and have every right to come and go as you please. We trusted you and besides, Jane was always with you.’
Martha chuckled. ‘We didn’t have chaperones, did we, Edward?’ The old man’s eyes twinkled. ‘Indeed, we didn’t.’ The love still flowed between the elderly couple and Annabel smiled, heartened to see it. How she longed for that same devotion from a man she could love in return. Her chin trembled again. ‘But you think he’s gone away, don’t you? That – that he doesn’t want to see me again?’
Her grandfather was silent for a moment before saying slowly, ‘I’d like to know what that quarrel in the office was about. And where this “unexpected” windfall came from.’
‘Miss Tate wouldn’t say. I’ve no doubt she feared for her job if she divulged too much and I wouldn’t have wanted to put that in jeopardy. I just wish—’
‘He’d let you know himself,’ Martha finished the sentence for her and Annabel nodded.
‘Perhaps, my lovely, he wasn’t able to,’ Edward said soberly.
Annabel drew in a breath and gazed at him, wide-eyed with fear. ‘You don’t think something’s happened to him?’
�
��No, no, I didn’t mean that. I should have said, perhaps he wasn’t allowed to get in touch with you.’
‘You mean by Mr Smeeton?’
‘No, I was thinking of your father.’
‘Father!’ Annabel knew only too well about her father’s ambitions for her, that she should marry well and produce a grandson, who would one day inherit his company. That was why she’d feared he would not look kindly on a liaison between his daughter and one of his employees. If he had somehow found out about her meetings with Gilbert, then why hadn’t he confronted her? She couldn’t believe he would be so devious as to dismiss Gilbert and prevent him from even saying goodbye to her.
Again the two older people exchanged a glance, then Edward went on, ‘Annabel, your parents are both – though it grieves me to say it about my own daughter – ruthlessly ambitious and, now, perhaps not only for themselves.’ He was speaking slowly, thoughtfully, as if only just coming to the realization himself. He sighed. ‘Your granny and I married for love. She could have done so much better for herself than an impoverished farmer’s son.’
‘Tut, tut, Edward,’ Martha frowned, but her merry eyes were twinkling, ‘perish the thought.’
‘And,’ Edward went on, ‘we wanted the same for our daughter and though it pained us that she took no interest in the farm and all that we had worked so hard to build up for her, we still wanted her to follow her heart’s desire. We believed that that was your father, but –’ he sighed heavily – ‘I believe now that their union came about more because of a mutual desire for advancement in the world than because they were deeply in love.’
Annabel thought about her own life. How she had had governesses at home, how she had been sent to an expensive finishing school, how she was not allowed to cultivate friends of her own age unless they were from well-to-do families. And that didn’t happen very often because those same families wanted nothing to do with ‘new money’ or ‘trade’. It was very hard for anyone to climb up through the levels of a class-ridden society. But Ambrose Constantine would die trying.
‘So you think,’ Annabel whispered, ‘that Father found out about Gilbert and had him dismissed and sent away.’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me, though we’ll probably never be able to prove it.’
‘And Gilbert? Surely he could have written to me?’
‘Maybe he was – encouraged’ – Edward hesitated to use the word ‘threatened’; he didn’t want to turn the girl completely against her own father, although he did believe she should see him for exactly what he was – ‘to go at once and not to contact you again.’
‘Then he was rather weak, wasn’t he?’
Edward touched her cheek in a fond gesture. ‘Not everyone has your strength of character, my lovely. You are hurt now, but trust me, you will get over it.’
Annabel leaned her head against his broad chest. ‘I wish I could stay here for ever.’
Edward stroked her hair tenderly. ‘Your father would never allow it. But you’re here now and whilst you are, I’m going to teach you everything about the farm that will one day be yours.’
Annabel raised her head and looked up into his face. ‘Will you? Will you really? I’d love that, because whatever happens, I’ll always have the farm. I’ll never let it go, I promise you.’
Edward kissed her forehead in thankfulness. His lifetime of hard work – and Martha’s too – had not been in vain after all.
Six
Over the next three weeks whilst Annabel stayed at Meadow View Farm, she spent her time immersed in learning even more about the farm. Edward showed her the diaries he had kept for years, each marking the activities on the farm – when to plough, to sow and to reap and all the statistics of crop yield that followed. He had noted when it was lambing time, when his cows calved and the subsequent milk quantities each animal produced.
‘It’s all here, Annabel. The good years and the bad are all noted. And you do get bad years, we all do, through inclement weather that spoils the crops or a disease that hits our animals. Farming is a precarious business and it’s hard, grinding work that never ends, but it’s a good life that has its own rewards.’
Edward had always had a head for figures and his one ‘vice’, as he always termed it, had been to gamble on the stock market. He had introduced Sarah to trading and, five years ago, he’d shown Annabel the ledgers he kept with his gains and losses again faithfully recorded. ‘I have a stockbroker in town,’ he’d confided, ‘and each market day I visit him and we discuss what we should sell or buy. It’s instinct as much as anything, Annabel. Here –’ he’d pulled down a new ledger from the shelf above his head in the small room at the back of the farmhouse which he had as his farm office – ‘I’ll set you off with ten pounds and next week when we go into town, I’ll introduce you to Mr Henry Parker and you can begin to trade on the stock exchange though, of course, at first all your dealings will have to be in my name.’
‘But what if I lose your money, Gramps?’ the young fifteen-year-old girl had worried.
Edward had chuckled. ‘You won’t. We’ll help you.’
The following week Annabel had been introduced to the kindly middle-aged man who, with her grandfather, would guide her. Sitting with Edward in Mr Parker’s office, she’d said, ‘But once I have to go home, I won’t be near enough to see Mr Parker regularly, will I?’
Henry Parker had smiled over his spectacles at her. ‘You can follow the stock market prices in your father’s newspaper and write your instructions to me, always making it clear at what price you want to buy or sell, just in case there should be a fluctuation before your letter reaches me. We do, of course, charge a commission on every transaction, you realize that?’
Annabel had nodded, excitement rising in her. Here was something she could have as an interest of which surely even her father would not disapprove. Her grandfather’s next words dispelled any lingering doubt. ‘I taught your mother when she was about your age. I don’t know if she has kept it up.’
‘Now I remember that,’ Henry put in. ‘She used to come here with you. I was a young office boy then, but I remember it clearly.’ He beamed. ‘And now it’ll be my pleasure to help you, Miss Annabel.’
‘I think maybe she still trades,’ Annabel had said. ‘I see her positively devouring Father’s paper when he’s done with it and she gets letters from a stockbroker quite frequently.’
‘Then – hopefully – she will guide you too.’
To her surprise, both her mother and father had been delighted to learn of Annabel’s new-found interest, though not so enamoured to hear of her love for the farm.
‘It will be a good inheritance for you and your children. When the time comes, you can employ a bailiff but it is not the sort of thing a woman ought to involve herself with,’ Ambrose had said firmly.
Annabel had said nothing; she had other ideas.
For the next five years, Annabel had played the part of a dutiful daughter and Ambrose had seen no reason to stop her frequent visits to her grandparents’ home. He was confident of her complete obedience, until he heard about her secret meetings with Gilbert Radcliffe. That, he decided, must be stopped, though nothing was said between Ambrose and his daughter.
When Annabel arrived home again from her most recent visit to Meadow View Farm, her parents’ plans for her to be presented at Court and take part in the coming London Season were well advanced.
‘I have been in touch with Lady Carruthers and we are to visit her next week at her country home in Brocklesby Park.’
Sir William Carruthers had now retired from the business world and had entered parliament, securing a safe seat for the Tories. Though they still had a home in the countryside just west of Grimsby, the pair spent much of their time in a town house in London and it was there that Annabel would stay for most of the summer with her sponsor. No expense was to be spared and arrangements went ahead at an alarming rate as it dawned on Annabel that both her parents and Lady Carruthers had been planning this for som
e months.
‘You have certainly grown into a beautiful young woman.’ Lady Carruthers looked Annabel up and down. ‘You will take London by storm, I am sure of it, but please don’t set your sights too high on what kind of man you might ensnare. Your background goes against you, my dear.’ At her side, Annabel felt her mother bristle at the insult, but, wisely, Sarah held her tongue. ‘However,’ Lady Carruthers went on, ‘the dates for the Court Drawing Rooms held in Buckingham Palace have been announced and I have written to the Lord Chamberlain suggesting your name. He and Her Majesty go over the lists very carefully and only young women who have hitherto led a blameless life will qualify.’ She eyed Annabel shrewdly. ‘I presume that they will not find even the merest hint of scandal when looking into your background?’
‘Certainly not,’ Sarah said swiftly now, unable to bite back a sharp retort any longer. ‘She has been brought up and educated to be a gentlewoman and has led a sheltered life.’
‘Good. Then we must hope for a favourable reply.’
Lady Cynthia Carruthers was a petite woman in her late thirties, Annabel guessed. She had startling blue eyes – the colour of the sky on a summer’s day – and her blonde hair was sleek and arranged in the latest fashion. She dressed in the finest silks and satins that her husband’s money could buy. She was like a pretty, porcelain doll and yet behind the image was a steely determination and an intelligent mind. She had always been an asset to her husband in the business world and now she more than held her own in the political world. The great and good of the land clamoured to be invited to attend her soirées in London or her countryside shooting-party weekends in Lincolnshire. She had two children – both boys. The younger daughter of an earl, she had the title ‘Lady Cynthia’ in her own right. It was whispered that she saw very little of her own family now as they considered that she had married beneath her, even though plain William Carruthers had risen in the world and had been knighted for his services to industry. But Lady Cynthia had built her own, very respected, circle of friends and acquaintances. Ambrose had been helpful to Sir William more than once over the years they had known each other and if repayment came in the form of assisting them to achieve their dreams for their daughter, then Lady Cynthia was happy to oblige.
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