John nodded, still looking uncomfortable.
‘Why on earth is she in there? I thought – well – that they were all right because of –’ She stopped and shrugged her shoulders expressively. ‘You know. Lizzie, the Websters’ maid, told me that Mrs Banks had moved away.’
‘It was the shame, m’lady,’ Nelly said. ‘Agnes Banks was devastated when Nancy got pregnant, but she stood by her then.’ She glanced at John. ‘That wasn’t altogether the young girl’s fault. We were all a bit to blame – we should have protected her more.’
‘She was a maid here, wasn’t she?’ Again, Annabel was careful not to reveal that she’d already heard all this from Ben.
Nelly nodded. ‘Yes, and her mother was the housekeeper. Mrs Banks came here after she lost her husband. Her and my mam were good friends and I was undercook then to my mam. It fair broke our hearts to see what Nancy’s downfall did to her mother. They left here, of course, and went first to the rooms above Ozzy Greenwood’s shop and later they moved to the little cottage on the outskirts of the village.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen it and I’ve seen her little boy in the garden. He looks a lonely little chap.’
‘He is. None of the folks in the village will let their children play with him.’
Annabel’s tender heart twisted for the child; whatever his mother was, none of it was his fault.
‘At first, they was all right. The villagers didn’t shun them – they knew full well what was what, if you get my meaning.’
Annabel nodded grimly. She understood how the young girl had been seduced by James’s elder brother.
‘Nancy and her mother set up as dressmakers. Nancy was a good little needlewoman – I’ll give her that – but when things started to get tough and the work dried up, they had no other income. That was when she – well, you can guess the rest, m’lady.’
‘Thank you for telling me, Mrs Parrish. I wanted to go and see Nancy and now I have an excuse.’
Nelly’s eyes were suddenly wide. ‘Oh m’lady, I don’t think you should go there.’
Annabel chuckled. ‘Then all the more reason why I should.’
‘His lordship wouldn’t like it.’
‘His lordship isn’t here.’
‘But he’ll hear about it, m’lady. Mark my words, he’ll hear about it.’
Nelly did not need to say who the teller of tales would be. Annabel could guess: Dorothea.
The boy was not in the garden when Annabel opened the gate and walked up the path to the front door. She glanced around her. The garden was well tended – the grass cut short, the borders neat though the summer flowers were dying now. The front door and the windows were freshly painted and Annabel wondered if one of Nancy’s ‘gentleman callers’ had done the work.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It was a while before it opened tentatively and a young, fair-haired woman’s face peered out. Her blue eyes were wide with fear.
Annabel smiled. ‘You must be Nancy. May I come in?’
The young woman gasped in surprise, but opened the door wide enough for Annabel to step inside. Then she led her through to a small, neat front parlour.
‘M’lady,’ she said in a low, sweet voice. ‘You shouldn’t be here. There’ll be such talk.’
Annabel shrugged. ‘So?’
‘Well . . .’ Nancy was lost for words.
‘May I sit down?’
‘Oh – of course. I’m sorry. Would – would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you. Where’s your little boy?’
‘He’s playing in the back garden. I – I don’t let him go into the front much. He – he gets called rude names.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Annabel paused and then went on, ‘Nancy, it has to stop, you know.’
Nancy’s face flooded with colour and she sank into a chair. ‘You know?’
Annabel nodded. ‘And I also know that a young soldier came to see you yesterday.’
‘I didn’t let him in, m’lady. I swear. Yes, I admit I have two – friends – from town who come to see me, but I’m not – not a whore, though I know that’s what the villagers call me.’ She hung her head in shame.
‘Then it must stop. Right now.’
Nancy raised her head slowly, tears in her eyes. ‘I want that more than anything, but how am I to feed Bertie if – if . . .’
‘I’ll support you until we can find you some work.’
Nancy shook her head. ‘No one around here will have anything to do with either of us. They’ll certainly not employ me.’
‘I do have an idea, but it may take some time to organize. Will you trust me?’
Nancy raised her head and looked into Annabel’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I will.’
‘Then the first thing we need to do is get your mother home.’
Nancy drew in a sharp breath and stared, wide-eyed at her. ‘From the workhouse? Oh m’lady, that’s so good of you, but she won’t come.’
‘She will. You’ve a room here for her, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, yes. It’s just as she left it.’ Fresh tears welled in Nancy’s eyes as she remembered the acrimonious parting with her mother and the guilt she’d felt ever since. ‘But she won’t come,’ she said sadly again. ‘She can’t forgive me.’
Twenty-Eight
‘Are we ready, Ben?’ Annabel asked as she crossed the courtyard early the following morning.
‘I think so, m’lady. The Broughtons’ farmhouse is spick and span and there’s food waiting for them.’
‘We’ll get the three of them in the trap, but we might have to have a second trip for the other two.’
‘The other two?’ Ben was mystified.
‘Mrs Parrish and Mrs Banks.’
Ben gaped at her. ‘Mrs Parrish I can understand, but Mrs Banks . . .’ He grinned suddenly. How he admired this young woman’s courage and determination. ‘That’ll cause a stir, but I don’t think she’ll come back here.’
‘That’s what Nancy said.’
‘Nancy? You’ve been to see her?’ This surprised him, even though he had watched her over the last few days and seen her iron resolve improve things.
‘Of course,’ Annabel said calmly. ‘I had to make sure that there was somewhere for Mrs Banks to come home to.’
Ben shook his head. ‘She won’t go back there, not while Nancy—’
‘Ah, but you see, Nancy won’t be – um – plying her trade’ – Annabel smiled impishly – ‘any more. You and I, Ben, are going to put a stop to it.’
‘Me! Oh now, I don’t want to get involved.’
‘I’m afraid you might have to be because I shall need one or two men to be with me when I confront her – um – callers the next time they are due to visit, which I understand is Friday night – tonight, in fact. I’m sure Adam will help and perhaps the vicar will too.’
‘The vicar! You can’t ask him, surely.’
‘I thought vicars were supposed to gather up lost sheep.’
Ben fell silent, confounded by her reasoning; he couldn’t think of an answer!
‘Let’s be on our way. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get these poor folks home again.’
Ben flicked the reins, wondering exactly what the day had in store for them.
The workhouse was a large, grim building situated on the outskirts of Thorpe St Michael. As they turned in at the huge gates, Annabel shuddered. She could only imagine the dreadful feeling of helplessness and despair that must engulf each and every person who was forced into such a place.
A thin woman in a shabby striped dress and grey apron showed them into the master’s office. They saw one or two more inmates who wore a similar uniform.
Mr Pinkerton was a rotund, florid man with light brown hair and whiskery sideburns. He was dressed in a black suit with a flamboyant waistcoat. The matron of the workhouse – his wife – stood beside him as Annabel faced them both across his desk.
‘You want to take out five people?
’ Mr Pinkerton – Annabel never learned his Christian name – was surprised. ‘All at once?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do they know about this?’
‘Not until you – or I – tell them.’
‘I don’t think I can allow them to be discharged so swiftly. I mean, there’s paperwork to fill out. I have to be sure they have a means of supporting themselves. And there’ll be a discharge fee of seven shillings and sixpence per head.’
Annabel raised her eyebrows and met his gaze squarely. ‘I hadn’t heard of a charge being levied for their release, but so be it and I will be supporting them once they are home. They will be well taken care of in the community to which they belong.’
‘Obviously, they weren’t supported very well by their community before they came in here,’ he said sarcastically, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers across his ample stomach.
‘I wasn’t there then,’ Annabel retorted sharply. She had introduced herself as Annabel Lyndon, omitting to give her title.
Ben, standing beside her, cleared his throat and said quietly, ‘This is the new Lady Fairfield.’
The man’s expression changed at once and he stood up, flustered and now anxious to please. ‘My lady, why didn’t you say? Please, sit down. I’ll have the – er – inmates brought here at once. And, of course, there will be no charge to you.’
Annabel smiled inwardly. It never ceased to amaze her how people’s attitudes altered as soon as they knew who or what you were. She had seen it before. Attitudes changed towards her father whenever someone had realized just how wealthy he was or how he could help them. Now, it was the title that impressed; just as Ambrose Constantine had known it would. She wondered now how the master was able to bypass the regulations so easily – if indeed the charge for release was a regulation. Maybe, she thought, it went straight into his pocket and she resolved to have a word with her friend Mr Hoyles, the bank manager, whom she knew was on the board of the town workhouse.
‘Is there a room where we might talk privately to them? I don’t think they know anything about this and it might be rather a surprise. A pleasant one, I trust, but nevertheless . . .’
‘Of course, you may use this office.’ The man was almost bowing to her. ‘My wife will find them and bring them here.’ He turned to the woman, who had been standing quietly all the time the conversation had been taking place. ‘My dear, perhaps you would fetch the Broughton family here first and then the other two. They can wait in the outer office until her ladyship is ready to interview them. Don’t tell them the reason they are being summoned.’ He turned a fawning smile on Annabel. ‘We can leave that pleasure to her ladyship.’
Already, Annabel disliked the man intensely but she needed to keep on his right side until she had her people, as she thought of them, safely on the outside. She didn’t trust him not to turn awkward and to find reasons why he could not let them leave. She wanted no more delays; the poor folk had been here long enough. So, she smiled politely, inclined her head and said graciously as befitted her status, ‘I would be most grateful.’
After some while, Mr and Mrs Broughton and their sixteen-year-old son, William, were ushered into the office. Annabel rose to greet them, holding out her hand, but the surly man in front of her ignored it, stared at her for a moment and then glanced beyond her. Seeing someone he recognized, he muttered, ‘Mr Jackson, what brings you here?’
Annabel was appalled by their appearance. Their workhouse uniforms hung loosely on their thin frames, but it was the hopeless, defeated look on each of their faces that distressed her. She wanted to gather them to her and whisk them away as quickly as possible, but she kept quiet and let Ben explain. ‘This is the new Lady Fairfield.’
‘Oh aye. I’ve heard rumours – even in here,’ Dan Broughton said bitterly, ‘that his lordship had married a wealthy woman and that her dowry was saving his grand house. But there’ll be nowt left for the rest of us, I expect.’
‘That’s partly true,’ Ben was obliged to admit, ‘but since Lady Fairfield has found out about the poor condition of the estate, she is using her own funds to help us. The Chadwicks were about to join you here in the workhouse, but she has prevented that. She has also installed Adam Cartwright in Sparrow Farm and your own farmhouse has been cleaned from top to bottom. Dan, my old friend, she has come to take you home.’
There was a moment’s stunned silence before Lily Broughton fell on her knees in front of Annabel and kissed the hem of her dress. Annabel reached down at once and helped her to her feet. ‘Oh, don’t do that, Mrs Broughton, please don’t.’ Then she put her arms about the woman, who was now weeping tears of gratitude and relief.
‘We can be together,’ Lily Broughton wept. ‘We can be a family again. We’ve been separated in here, m’lady. I’ve only seen my husband and my boy once a week.’
Annabel hugged her even closer, murmuring, ‘There, there, you’re going home now.’
But Dan Broughton’s face was still angry and resentful. ‘Oh aye, an’ what sort of rent are we expected to find?’
‘None, Mr Broughton,’ Annabel said, over his wife’s head, ‘until your farm is paying its way.’
‘An’ how am I to restock and plant crops with not a penny to me name?’
‘All that will be provided—’
‘I won’t accept charity,’ he spat. ‘’Twas bad enough having to come in here and be a burden on the parish, to know that I couldn’t look after me own wife and son, but to take money from a woman. No, never!’
Lily Broughton turned on her husband with a sudden vigour that surprised both Annabel and Ben. ‘Dan, how can you be so ungrateful? Think of William – please. Even if you don’t want to get out, at least let him go.’
‘You’re all coming home,’ Annabel said firmly, ‘and it won’t be charity, Mr Broughton. Jim Chadwick said exactly the same. Careful records will be kept of all the money spent to get your farm up and running again and then, over time, you can pay me back.’
‘Aye, with a crippling interest we can’t afford.’
Annabel laughed – a merry sound that wasn’t often heard within those walls. ‘Do you know, I hadn’t even thought of charging interest, Mr Broughton. I’ll have to give that some thought.’ Then, seeing the poor man couldn’t understand her sense of humour, she touched his hand. ‘There’ll be no interest added on, Mr Broughton, I promise you. And once we get you a herd of cows, you’ll soon have some sort of income.’
‘I’ll have lost me customers by now. They’ll all be getting their milk elsewhere.’
For some reason the man was being obtuse, putting obstacles in the way of everything she suggested. She glanced at Ben for an explanation but he just shrugged, as mystified as she was. It seemed to both of them that Dan Broughton didn’t want to leave the workhouse. It was the boy who, speaking for the first time, gave a hint of the reason for his father’s strange attitude.
‘Dad’s got very depressed, m’lady. It was a dreadful day when we had to leave the farm and come in here. And now he’s lost all hope. I know I’m too young to take on the tenancy, but I’m not too young to work and I’ll work day and night for you, if you’ll give me the chance. And I’ll look after me mam and me dad, an’ all. Mr Chadwick was always a good friend. He’ll advise me – and Mr Jackson here –’ he nodded towards Ben – ‘he’ll help me.’
‘We’ll all help you, William,’ Annabel promised. ‘Now, get your things together and we’ll take you home.’
‘What? Now?’
‘Right now, William.’
Taking an arm each, Lily Broughton and her son almost dragged Dan from the room. When the door closed behind them, Annabel couldn’t stop her laughter, though she was careful to keep it low so that the family outside wouldn’t hear. ‘I don’t think that poor man has much choice in the matter now, do you?’
‘It’s strange,’ Ben murmured, staring at the closed door. ‘Dan never used to be like that. He was a jolly, optimistic sort of a chap.’
‘I wonder what sort of a reception we’ll get from old Mrs Parrish and Mrs Banks.’
They didn’t have to wait many minutes to find out. The matron ushered the two women into the room together.
The older of the two women, whom Annabel judged to be the cook’s mother, was leaning heavily on the other woman’s arm and she also used a stick in her right hand.
‘Please sit down, Mrs Parrish,’ Annabel said, after Ben had introduced her as the new Lady Fairfield. The older woman eyed her but said nothing. She was very bent, her thin shoulders hunched. The other woman – Mrs Banks – stood beside her friend and looked expectantly towards Annabel.
‘We’ve come to take you home,’ Annabel said gently. ‘There’s a room for you at Fairfield Hall, Mrs Parrish, until we can get you back to your little cottage, and your daughter, Mrs Banks, has kept your room ready for you. We’re going to take the Broughton family home first – to their farm – and then we’ll come back for you.’
Grace Parrish said nothing. Annabel thought she looked very frail and rather ill. She didn’t seem to understand what was being said, but Agnes Banks spoke up. ‘I’m sure Mrs Parrish will gladly go with you, m’lady, but I can’t go back there. I thank you for your kind thought, but I shall stay here.’
Annabel stared at her for a moment, unsure how best to persuade the woman. ‘I’ve talked to your daughter, Mrs Banks, and everything will be different from now on. Her “friends” from the town will no longer be welcome and I have plans to help Nancy find employment.’
‘Are you a miracle worker, then, m’lady, because that’s what it’ll take for anyone in that village to give her work?’
Annabel laughed. ‘We’ll see, but for the moment, won’t you come back home? Your daughter and your grandson need you.’
The woman’s face crumpled. ‘Poor little chap. None of it is his fault. Not even his birth.’ She sighed heavily and then murmured, ‘But I can’t come back. I really can’t.’
Annabel smiled sadly and touched the woman’s arm. ‘Very well, we’ll leave it for today, but I’m not giving up on you, Mrs Banks. I’ll keep coming back and back until you’re so sick of the sight of me, you’ll give in.’
Fairfield Hall Page 18
