Fairfield Hall

by Margaret Dickinson

  The estate began to prosper. Lambs were born early in March, but Annabel was sad that she couldn’t be there to see it. The pigs, too, farrowed in March and calving came in May. And the crops began to grow. There was a feeling of optimism throughout the whole village. There was work for everyone from the children leaving school as soon as they reached twelve to Grace Parrish who, now back in her own home, undertook to clean the school every night after the children left. ‘It’s something I can do,’ Grace told Nelly when her daughter protested it’d be too much for her. ‘Don’t try to stop me, lass. I can manage it and I need to be occupied.’

  The shops thrived now that there was more money about and Jabez Fletcher’s smithy was busy from morning until night with either blacksmith’s work or carpentry. He was the first to come to the Hall one morning to present Annabel with the first repayment on his loan. Others soon followed and the money trickled back into Annabel’s bank account. She was pleased, not because she needed the money but because she knew it was giving the villagers back their pride.

  The day came in late June when Thomas Salt asked to see Lady Fairfield. John Searby led him to Annabel’s office. The man, so used to being out of doors, was ill-at-ease as he stood in front of her desk, twirling his cap between gnarled fingers.

  ‘Mr Salt, how are you?’ Annabel looked up from her papers. ‘Please sit down.’

  ‘I’m well, thank’ee, m’lady, but I’ll not sit down. I’m in me workin’ clothes. I’ve just come to tell you that her ladyship’s garden is coming on nicely and I think she’d like to see it now.’

  ‘Oh how wonderful.’ Annabel said, clasping her hands together. ‘We’ll arrange it. When would it suit you?’

  ‘It’d be nice on a warm, sunny day, m’lady.’ He glanced at the windows. ‘It’s going to rain this afternoon, so best leave it until tomorrow. I reckon it’ll be nice tomorrow.’

  Annabel hid her smile. She marvelled at how the country folk seemed to be able to foretell the weather, and invariably, they were right. ‘Tomorrow afternoon it is, then. His lordship is due home tomorrow morning, Mr Salt, for a short leave, so we’ll arrange a picnic in the walled garden in honour of its reopening. I’ll see Mrs Parrish about it.’

  The following afternoon was sunny and warm – just as Thomas had predicted. He and Gregory Merriman worked all morning, cutting and trimming in a last effort to make everything just perfect. James, with Harry Jenkins in tow, arrived mid-morning, no doubt, Annabel thought sadly, after a night or two in London with Cynthia Carruthers, but she fixed a welcoming smile on her face. Harry disappeared to the village as soon as he could. Over luncheon, Annabel told James, Dorothea and Theo of the proposed picnic for the afternoon.

  ‘Such excitement won’t be good for Mama.’ Dorothea pursed her lips. ‘She’s talked about nothing else since you told her last night. I doubt she hardly slept.’

  To Annabel’s surprise, James agreed with his wife. ‘She’ll be fine. I’ll get Searby to bring down the bath chair from the attics and clean it. It’s one my grandmother had years ago,’ he explained to Annabel. ‘We can push her to the garden. It’s high time she got out a bit. She’s been acting like an old lady for too long now.’

  ‘She’s a sick woman, James.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he snapped. ‘Only because you make her think she is. Keeping her shut away in her room. You’ve made her old before her time.’

  Dorothea gasped. ‘Well, if you don’t like the way I run the household, perhaps your dear wife had better take over my duties. She’s taking everything else from me.’

  ‘Oh Dorothea, don’t say that,’ Annabel protested. ‘You run the house beautifully. I wouldn’t know where to start. Take no notice of James, but please let us take Lady Fairfield to the garden.’ Now she turned to her husband. ‘Your mother was very ill, James, and it has taken her a long time to feel well again, but the garden has given her an interest and something to get better for. She so longs to see it.’

  ‘And so she shall,’ James declared and now, even Dorothea did not argue.

  That afternoon, it was like an expedition setting out. Nelly, Annie and Jane spent most of the early afternoon preparing a lavish picnic and when John Searby and the new footman had carried it across to the garden, everything was ready. The bath chair awaited Elizabeth in the courtyard near the side door and James himself wheeled her across towards the gate at the side of the stables leading into the gardens. Thomas and the young gardener stood watching, taking off their caps and giving a little bow as the party approached. Even Dorothea had condescended to come and Theo was capering around them like a caged animal let loose.

  It was like a grand opening ceremony and when the gate swung open, Elizabeth gave a little cry of delight. As James pushed her into the garden, she looked around her in wonder. ‘I never thought I’d see it again and looking like it used to do. Oh, just look at the roses! How hard you must have worked, Salt, you and your colleague.’ She smiled at the two men standing together.

  ‘It’s been our pleasure, m’lady, and to see you enjoying it will be our reward,’ Thomas said and added, with a catch in his voice, ‘It’s good to be back working here.’

  Annabel glanced down to the ground, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes, but she could feel Dorothea’s resentful gaze upon her.

  The afternoon was a great success. James played an impromptu game of cricket with Theo on the stretch of lawn at the back of the house, inviting the two gardeners to join in. Playing in shirt sleeves, with his brown hair ruffled, James looked relaxed and the happiest Annabel had ever seen him. That night he made love to her tenderly and by the time he left the following morning, no mention had been made either about her pregnancy or about Ben Jackson.

  Through the summer months, Elizabeth visited the garden every day when the weather was fine. After her afternoon nap, she would go down to the side entrance where Thomas would be waiting with the bath chair. He would wheel her to the garden, where she would sit and read, or just gaze around her at the transformation from an overgrown wilderness back to its former glory.

  ‘Help me up, Salt, if you please. I want to walk.’ Each day she grew stronger and, just like the garden, in time she was restored to full health. But Elizabeth never forgot the person who had made all this possible.

  The summer was a busy and exciting time for the estate too. Farmers had always been used to coping with Britain’s changeable weather and the summer of 1897 was no exception, but they managed to bring in good harvests of both hay and cereal crops. From her bedroom overlooking the front of the house, Annabel was able to watch the workers in the fields. How she longed to be with them, dressed in old clothes, her hair tied back as she helped to stook, but her advanced pregnancy kept her close to home.

  ‘You can’t go down to the village like that.’ Dorothea was appalled to see that Annabel was preparing to be driven down to the village one warm August morning. ‘You can no longer hide your condition. Ladies wouldn’t dream of being seen in public like that.’

  Annabel smiled and said smoothly, ‘But we all know that I’m no lady, Dorothea. Oh, and just to let you know, I’ve requested that Nurse Newton should come back for my confinement. She’s an experienced midwife too.’

  Dorothea turned away, sick at heart. Because Annabel’s money paid for everything, she could no longer argue about any expense. She was daily fighting a conflict of emotions. She knew that Annabel’s dowry had saved Fairfield Hall and her money had also restored the estate. She had cause to be thankful to Annabel, but her consuming jealousy would not let her admit such a thing. And now there was the coming child. She hoped – prayed – that it would be a girl. For, if it was a boy, even she didn’t know what she might be capable of.

  Fifty-Three

  Late in the evening of 8 September 1897, just over a year after her marriage, Annabel felt the first contractions. Luckily, Nurse Newton had arrived the previous week and had set up a bedroom on the top floor for the confinement. Annabel was fortunate that her labour m
oved swiftly and her child was born in the early hours of the following day. The baby’s lusty cries woke the household, most of whom were awake anyway, awaiting its arrival. Dorothea lay rigid in her bed, determined not to leave her room. She would know soon enough, but the bedroom door opened and Theo stood there, his sturdy frame illuminated by the soft light from the landing.

  ‘There’s a baby crying, Mama. I can hear it.’

  In the semi-darkness, Dorothea pursed her mouth, screwed her eyes tight shut and didn’t answer him. The boy moved closer to her bedside. ‘Mama, I said—’

  Dorothea’s eyes flew open. ‘I heard what you said,’ she snapped. The boy flinched and took a step backwards.

  The door behind him opened wider and Elizabeth, dressed in only her nightgown with a shawl around her shoulders, tiptoed into the room.

  ‘Dorothea – aren’t you going to see if everything’s all right?’

  ‘No, I am not,’ she replied tersely and turned onto her side, her back towards them.

  There was a brief, shocked pause, before Elizabeth, in a surprisingly strong voice, said, ‘Then Theo and I will go and see. Come along, my dear.’ She held out her hand to the boy and together they left the room and went up the stairs towards the noise of the newborn baby.

  As the door closed behind them, Dorothea buried her head beneath her bedclothes and muttered angrily, ‘It’s Theodore.’ Even her mother was being influenced by Annabel.

  When Elizabeth knocked tentatively, the door was opened by Jane, who had been present at the birth to be at the beck and call of the nurse.

  ‘May we come in?’

  ‘Oh, m’lady! And Master Theo.’ Jane’s face was pink with pleasure, lit with a beaming smile. She turned back briefly towards the nurse to see if she could admit them.

  Elizabeth heard Nurse Newton say, ‘Please ask them to come back in half an hour. They can see Mother and Baby then.’

  As Jane turned back to relay the message, Elizabeth said, ‘We’ll do that. Come along, Theo, we’ll go down to my room. There’s a fire still burning there. We’ll be cosy while we wait.’

  Elizabeth lit a candle and they sat together in front of the dying fire. But it still gave a little warmth and the early September night was not cold.

  ‘Do you realize that this little baby will be your cousin?’

  ‘Will it? Why?’

  ‘Because he – or she – is the child of your uncle.’ Elizabeth was thoughtful for a moment before saying, ‘You have another cousin too.’

  The boy, now six, though educated solely by his mother, was bright and intelligent and had been drilled by her in the matter of the family lineage, so he understood about relationships. But she had never told him about a cousin.

  ‘Have I?’ he said innocently. ‘Who is it?’

  Elizabeth was silent for a moment before saying softly, ‘Albert Lyndon Banks.’

  ‘You mean Bertie? The boy who came to stay here for a night or two when his house burnt down?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  There was a pause whilst Theo digested this information. ‘I gave him my train, you know,’ he whispered, ‘but please don’t tell Mama.’

  Elizabeth chuckled. ‘It’ll be our secret, Theo dear.’

  The boy was thoughtful now and, after a moment, he said, ‘But he won’t inherit the estate, will he, because I’m older than him, aren’t I?’

  Elizabeth was silent for a moment, gazing into the fire, lost in her own thoughts and memories. ‘He won’t inherit,’ she said slowly at last, ‘because he’s illegitimate.’

  ‘What’s – ill-illimate?’

  ‘He’s your Uncle Albert’s son.’

  ‘The one who died who was the earl before Uncle James?’

  ‘That’s correct. By rights, though, Bertie should be the heir – he should be the earl now, really, young though he is, because he’s the son of the eldest son.’

  Now it was getting complicated for the young boy, but his grandmother’s next words clarified her reasoning. ‘But he can’t inherit because his mother and father were never married. That’s what illegitimate means. He was born out of wedlock.’

  Theo was quiet again, digesting the information, but now he had more questions. ‘Am I – illimate?’

  ‘No – no. Your mother and father were – are – married.’

  ‘But I haven’t got a father.’

  ‘Of course you have. Everyone’s got a father.’

  ‘But he’s not here. I don’t know him.’ He paused and then added, ‘Is he dead?’

  Elizabeth stroked her grandson’s hair. ‘I really don’t know, Theo. He went away when you were about eighteen months old and he never came back. Do you remember him at all? He was tall with dark hair and a moustache.’

  Theo wrinkled his forehead. ‘I don’t think so. I remember Uncle Albert, though. He was fun. He used to carry me on his shoulders, didn’t he? And he taught me how to play poker.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Elizabeth said fondly. Despite Albert’s wild ways and the trouble he had brought upon the family, Elizabeth had loved her firstborn fiercely. He had, as Theo had said, been fun and with his death a bright light had gone out of her life. But now there was another child born into the family – one who might take away Theo’s inheritance in a way that Bertie Banks could never do. The child would be her grandchild too – indeed, they were all her grandchildren.

  The door opened and Jane peered around it. ‘Nurse says you can come and see Baby now, m’lady.’

  Elizabeth rose stiffly and again took Theo’s hand. They crept up to the bedroom and went to stand beside the bed. Annabel, her cheeks red from the effort of giving birth, smiled at them. Her eyes glowed with happiness as she cradled the tiny bundle in her arms.

  ‘It’s a boy,’ she said softly, pride mingled with a note of anxiety in her tone. She was not sure how either of them would respond. Elizabeth smiled and nodded with obvious satisfaction. ‘The future Lord Fairfield,’ she murmured. ‘What are you going to call him?’

  ‘I must talk to James when he comes home, of course, but I would like one of his names to be Edward.’

  ‘It’s a good name, my dear, but would you consider calling him Charles after my late husband?’

  ‘Of course,’ Annabel agreed readily, then her glance went to Theo and she searched his expression for anger or jealousy, but he was looking at the baby’s red, wrinkled face with disappointment and all he said was, ‘How long will it be before he’s big enough to play with me?’

  It was two days before Dorothea could bring herself to acknowledge the child’s arrival. On the third day after the birth, she ventured – at Elizabeth’s insistence – into Annabel’s bedroom. She was surprised to see the new mother already sitting in a chair near the window, breast-feeding her baby.

  ‘Should you be up already?’ Dorothea spoke before thinking. Then immediately, she was angry with herself; she had shown a concern she was anxious not to express. Annabel looked up and smiled, but her eyes were wary. Elizabeth came each day – twice sometimes – to see her grandson and Theo came as often as he could sneak away from his mother’s watchful eye. ‘Has he grown today?’ he would ask innocently and Annabel would say, ‘A little, perhaps, Theo, but it will be a long time before he can walk and talk. I’m sorry.’

  The little boy had shrugged. ‘But one day he’ll be old enough to be my friend, won’t he?’ His words and the longing in his tone broke Annabel’s heart. She touched his cheek with gentle fingers as she whispered huskily, ‘Of course he will.’

  The household was full of talk of the new baby – the boy who would one day be the Earl of Fairfield; the boy who had usurped Theodore. And now Dorothea had come to see him. She approached, reluctance in every step, and yet she had to see him for herself.

  She stood a long time looking down at him. The baby looked up at her with wide, dark blue eyes whilst his mother stroked his downy fair hair. She glanced up at Dorothea, fearful to see the expression on the woman’s face. But, to he
r surprise, her sister-in-law was smiling grimly. ‘So – that settles it, then. He’s no Lyndon. Lyndons all have dark hair and brown eyes. And,’ she added triumphantly, ‘Jackson was fair-haired and blue-eyed. James will have to believe me now.’

  Fifty-Four

  It was five weeks before James arrived home. During that time, Annabel wrote countless letters to her husband, begging him to come home to see his son and also to agree to the name she had chosen: Charles, after James’s father and Edward, after her grandfather. But no word came and Annabel began to panic that something had happened to her husband.

  ‘I’ll have to register his birth. It’s the law,’ she told Elizabeth worriedly as they sat together one warm early October afternoon in the shelter of the walled garden. The baby boy lay in the perambulator, which the butler had unearthed from the attic. ‘If I don’t hear soon . . .’

  Elizabeth no longer needed the bath chair and she walked from the house to the garden each day with only the support of a walking stick. Now she sat with her hand on the perambulator gently rocking her new grandson.

  ‘Then you must decide the name, my dear.’

  ‘But what if it’s not what James wants?’

  Elizabeth lifted her shoulders. ‘Then it’s his own fault. You’ve done your best. And I must say I am rather surprised and disappointed in him that he hasn’t come home. I’m sure Army officers aren’t so heartless as not to allow a man a little leave on the birth of his son and heir.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Annabel murmured softly, ‘he really believes what Dorothea is saying. Has she written to him, d’you know?’

  ‘I expect so,’ Elizabeth said mildly.

  Annabel sighed. ‘Then that’s the reason. He believes her.’

  It seemed he did, for when at last James arrived home, he was cold and distant, scarcely glancing at the child and when he did so, it was to say harshly, ‘I see that Dorothea is right after all. He does not take after the Lyndon side of the family. Fair hair and blue eyes?’ His belligerent glare pointedly took in Annabel’s own black hair and violet eyes. ‘Now from whom do you suppose he inherited such colouring?’