Fairfield Hall

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘It’s Charles Edward,’ Annabel murmured.

  ‘Oh Annabel, your grandfather will be so thrilled.’

  Edward was indeed overwhelmed to hold his great-grandson in his arms and to learn that the baby boy had been named after him, but more than that his anger was incandescent at James’s treatment of his wife.

  ‘This is disgraceful!’ he stormed, only quietening his voice when the baby in his arms whimpered. ‘Sorry, my little man, but it has to be said. What’s to be done about it?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything that can be done,’ Annabel said flatly. She was tired, bone-weary from all the emotional upheaval, and now all she wanted to do was to care for her child and lock herself away from the world. ‘He says he’s going to take legal steps to disinherit Charlie.’

  ‘Can he do that?’

  ‘He seems to think so. The estate isn’t entailed to the title anyway, so he can leave that to whomsoever he wishes. Theo, obviously. As for the title, I really don’t know how that works.’

  Edward and Martha glanced at one another, but it was Martha who voiced what they were both thinking. ‘You must come here and live with us. We’ll take care of you.’

  ‘Are you sure? You can hardly want a screaming baby in the house again at your age.’

  ‘At our age! Hark at her. We’re not in our dotage yet, my girl.’ Edward smiled, the anger in his eyes dying. ‘Besides –’ he gestured with his head towards his wife – ‘your gran will be in her element with a little one about the house again.’

  For the first time in days, Annabel smiled.

  Jane arrived late the following afternoon, with trunks and boxes loaded onto Jim Chadwick’s farm cart. She jumped down and rushed towards Annabel, her arms wide. ‘Oh miss, thank goodness you’re safe. None of us knew where you’d gone. They wouldn’t tell us. I was frantic with worry, but his lordship told us that if any of us went after you, he’d have us all sent to the workhouse. I wanted to come, miss, but I couldn’t put them all in danger again.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Annabel said, hugging her. ‘But how have you got away today – and with all my things too? How has he allowed that?’

  ‘He’s gone back to his regiment and Harry Jenkins with him. When he’d gone, Lady Dorothea came down to the kitchen herself and told me to pack up everything that was yours. She actually stood watching me all the time I did it, just to make sure I didn’t steal owt, I suppose. “I hope you haven’t missed anything,” she said, “I don’t want a trace of that woman left in this house.” And then she ordered Thomas Salt to take down your portrait from the dining room and burn it.’ Jane pulled a face. ‘But I expect she’ll hang on to all the money you’ve given them, won’t she, miss?’

  Edward put a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders. ‘We don’t care about the money, Jane, just so long as you’re all safe. Now, come along in and have something to eat. You too, Jim, before you go back.’

  They sat around Martha’s big kitchen table, though none of them could do justice to the tea she placed before them as their conversation naturally dwelt on the appalling events of the past thirty-six hours.

  ‘I still can’t believe it all,’ Jim said. ‘I reckon they’re a bit touched, if you ask me, specially her – Lady Dorothea. But I can’t understand his lordship believing her tales. But then, I reckon there’s a touch of madness – or badness – in them somewhere. Look at Albert and his goings on and the callous way he treated poor Nancy Banks. Mind you, the old man was a real gentleman and Lady Fairfield – the old lady, that is – is a lovely woman.’

  ‘Do you know how she is, Jane?’ Annabel asked. ‘I was sorry to leave without seeing her – and Theo.’

  ‘She took to her room and refused to come down to any meals and Annie said that Master Theo was crying that much – he’d watched you leave, miss – his mother shut him in his bedroom and told him not to come out until he’d “stopped making that silly noise”.’

  ‘Oh dear. Poor little boy. He won’t understand why I left so suddenly. He – he’ll think I’ve just deserted him.’

  ‘He’ll understand one day, m’lady, when he’s older,’ Jim promised. ‘We’ll make sure of that – somehow.’

  Annabel smiled weakly, but her heart was breaking as she thought about the lonely little boy and Lady Fairfield too. She’d been very fond of both of them, but she was banned from seeing them now.

  ‘Well, Jane, are you ready?’ Jim said. ‘I’d best be off. Me cows’ll be bursting their udders.’

  Jane’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, I’m not coming back. I brought all me bits and pieces with me. I’m never going back to that house again. If Miss Annabel doesn’t need me any more, I’ll go home and then try to get work somewhere else.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Martha said promptly before anyone else could speak. ‘You’re needed – and wanted – here, Jane. There’s plenty of work for you, helping to care for Charlie and, if you don’t mind, working in the dairy, then I can teach you –’

  She glanced at Jane’s beaming face as the girl said, ‘I used to help me mam in our dairy at home. I love the work.’

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ Martha said firmly.

  ‘So it seems,’ Edward agreed, but he was smiling as he said it.

  Fifty-Six

  There were no repercussions against the villagers who had helped Annabel. Either those at the big house had not heard, or they had chosen to ignore it. Annabel was safely gone and would never – if Dorothea had any say – return. Her name was never mentioned in Dorothea’s hearing, though Lady Elizabeth and Theo whispered about her when they visited the walled garden together, Elizabeth to wander amongst the flowerbeds and discuss with Thomas Salt what should be planted and where, Theo to play up and down the paths between the borders, his only playmate now the younger gardener, Gregory Merriman. There grew a special bond between Elizabeth and the only grandson left to her. In their loneliness they drew comfort from each other and it was she who explained gently to the puzzled little boy why Annabel had left so suddenly.

  ‘Grown-ups have silly fallings-out sometimes,’ she told him, ‘and I’m afraid your uncle James doesn’t wish to be married to Annabel any longer.’

  ‘Why? She’s very pretty and kind and I – I liked her.’ Young though he was, he forbore to say the word ‘loved’, though that is what he’d felt for Annabel. He was rather afraid he’d loved Annabel more than he loved his own mother, but he felt that would be a wicked thing to say aloud.

  ‘I know, my dear, so did I and I don’t want you to blame her at all. Men can be very foolish at times.’ She was silent for a moment, remembering her elder son, Albert. Oh, how very foolish he’d been. In a way, this was all his fault. If he had followed in his father’s worthy footsteps, none of this trouble would have happened. She sighed and repeated, ‘Just so long as you never blame your poor Aunt Annabel.’

  It would be several years before Theo saw Annabel again, though Bertie Banks was luckier. He too had been entranced by her and often pleaded with his mother that they should make the journey in the communal pony and trap to visit her at Meadow View Farm. As he grew older, he learned that Jim Chadwick visited the Armstrongs’ farm regularly and he would beg a ride with him. His welcome at Meadow View Farm was always assured and he enjoyed playing with the growing Charlie and delighted in seeing that the toy that had once been his was Charlie’s favourite possession. He carried it everywhere with him and Annabel told him laughingly that if Hoppy was missing at bedtime, Charlie wouldn’t go to sleep until he was found.

  Shortly after her arrival at Meadow View Farm, Annabel’s parents paid a visit. Her father was incensed by what had happened. ‘I have received another letter from Lady Dorothy that you have run away from Fairfield Hall – that you have abandoned your husband and abducted the child.’

  ‘None of that is true, Father. James turned us both out because Dorothea convinced him that Charlie is not his son – just because he has fair hair and blue eyes. I tried to tell
him that there was such colouring in my family, but he wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘Then you should have convinced him. Women have their ways of persuading a man.’

  Annabel glared at him, knowing exactly what he was meaning. ‘My feminine wiles were lost on him.’

  ‘You didn’t try hard enough. You should have – seduced him.’

  Martha gasped and Edward intervened. ‘That’s enough, Constantine.’

  Ambrose rounded on him. ‘It’s not nearly enough. She’d no business leaving him. Dorothea says he’s taking steps to disinherit the boy. He will never inherit the estate or’ – he added emphatically – ‘the title.’

  ‘Aye,’ Edward said, ‘that’s all that bothers you, isn’t it? You’re not really concerned about Annabel’s happiness – just her status that will reflect glory on you.’

  ‘I wanted a position in life for my grandson and she has lost that by her dalliance with another man.’

  ‘You still believe that after she has given you her word?’

  ‘There’s no smoke without fire,’ Ambrose muttered.

  Until this moment, Sarah had said nothing, but now she said coldly, ‘No, actually we don’t believe her. People of the Lyndons’ class in society don’t tell such lies. James would have been proud to have had a son of his own to inherit the title. I agree with Ambrose. He must have had good cause to believe that the child was not his. And like your father says, Annabel, you should have tried harder to convince him.’

  Anger rose in Annabel now and she turned to her mother. ‘With my “feminine wiles”?’

  ‘Men have their needs. You should have made use of that.’

  ‘His “needs” are well satisfied by his mistress in London. Your dear friend, Lady Cynthia Carruthers. The woman who brought us together in the first place.’ She turned back to her father. ‘And how much did you pay her to bring about the marriage?’

  Colour flooded Ambrose’s face and he avoided meeting her gaze. ‘Ah, I thought as much,’ Annabel said softly. ‘Well, I am sorry that things haven’t turned out the way you wanted and I’m even sorrier that you choose to believe the Lyndons and not your own daughter. But if that’s the way it is, then so be it.’

  Ambrose recovered sufficiently to jab his forefinger towards her and say, ‘You will go back to your husband and take up your rightful place at Fairfield Hall. I will not see all my plans go up in flames because of you. If you don’t do as I say, I will disown you – and your son. You will get nothing from me.’

  There was a shocked silence in the room. Edward moved to put his arm around his granddaughter’s shoulders. Quietly, he said, ‘She has no need of your money, Constantine. She has all she needs here. This farm has already been transferred to her name.’

  Ambrose looked as if he were about to explode. ‘A woman as a farmer? Whoever heard of such a thing?’

  ‘It isn’t seemly,’ Sarah said with tight, disapproving lips. ‘She will be a laughing stock.’

  ‘That she will most certainly not be,’ Edward countered. ‘She is already taking over the reins and is making a good job of it.’

  ‘And I suppose this feller you had an affair with will be joining you here when the dust has settled.’ Ambrose glanced around as if looking for someone, his tone sarcastic as he added, ‘Unless, of course, he’s already here.’

  ‘No, he isn’t.’ Edward answered for her. ‘Nor will he be. Annabel hasn’t seen Ben Jackson since the day he was dismissed from Fairfield.’ He did not add ‘nor will she’ for in his heart he hoped that one day, somehow, Ben and Annabel might be reunited for he had seen for himself the love the man had for her. But for now, he kept silent.

  ‘So,’ Ambrose said at last, ‘you are refusing to go back?’

  ‘Father,’ Annabel tried to reason with him. ‘You don’t seem to understand. I fear for Charlie’s safety. There’s no knowing what Dorothea might do.’

  ‘You’re hysterical and talking nonsense. I’ve heard of it happening following childbirth. How can you accuse a real lady of such things?’

  ‘She’s not going back,’ Edward said firmly. ‘She’s staying here with us.’

  ‘Aye, that’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s what you’ve always wanted. Well, if you refuse to do your duty and return to your husband, Annabel, I want no more to do with you. Come, Sarah, we’re leaving.’

  For a moment, Sarah hesitated. She looked at her daughter and then at her parents, but then she dropped her gaze and followed her husband.

  Annabel had settled into her life at Meadow View Farm. She discarded her fancy clothes and wore those of a typical farmer’s wife, but she was happy, happier than she’d ever been at Fairfield Hall. And yet, she still ached for her lost love. It was hard to realize that it had not been the real James Lyndon she had loved for she knew now that he was not the man she’d believed him to be. At first, his hints of jealousy had delighted her, making her feel treasured, but they had become obsessive and twisted, born out of possessiveness, not love. Given time, those hurts would heal and now, her only real sadness was that she couldn’t see Ben, though she heard through Jane when she visited her parents that he was well.

  ‘Dad and Mam think the world of him and,’ Jane told her, ‘Mr Jackson asked me how you were. I told him about all that had happened and he said he wished he could come and see you, but he thought it best not to.’ With sorrow in her heart, Annabel had to agree. If word got back to Fairfield that she and Ben were meeting, the rumours would not only start again, but might be validated.

  The years stretched ahead of her, filled with caring for her child and her grandparents, too, as they got older, and running Meadow View Farm. It was a life with which she could – and would – be content, but there would be someone missing of whom she now realized she had become very fond. Sadly, she decided that she could not see Ben again.

  Fifty-Seven

  September 1906

  ‘Theo, come here a moment. The new boys are arriving.’

  Bertie was standing near the window of the dormitory at the boys’ boarding school they now both attended, looking down on to the front driveway at the start of the new academic year. Despite the trouble, Annabel had kept her promise to Dorothea; even though the woman didn’t deserve her help any longer, Theo did. He deserved a good education. But the following year after Theo had started at boarding school, Annabel had enrolled Bertie Banks there too, she hoped unbeknown to Dorothea.

  ‘Mama hardly ever visits, but if she does, you’ll have to make yourself scarce, old chap,’ Theo had told Bertie when he’d arrived at the school, white-face and fearful of the taunts he expected to face. But he had reckoned without the support of Theo, older by six months. Theo was delighted the boy had come and proudly introduced him at once as his cousin. Questions as to the different surname were never asked though one or two of the masters raised their eyebrows and regarded the boy thoughtfully. Whispered talk in the staffroom – out of the hearing of the formidable headmaster, Mr Roper – had revealed that Theo was the heir to the title of Earl of Fairfield and, they presumed, to the estate too.

  ‘There was some scandal attached to that family,’ one said, ‘but I can’t quite remember what it was.’

  ‘All I’ve read about the Lyndons is that the present earl fought in the Boer War. He was out of the country for months on end, years possibly. God alone knows what happened to the estate in his absence.’

  But God was not alone in caring for the Fairfield Estate and everyone on it. When James had known that he was to be sent to Africa, he had employed a new farm bailiff – Jim Chadwick.

  ‘Do you think you can keep an eye on Home Farm and the whole estate as well as manage your own farm, Chadwick?’ James had asked. ‘You will be well recompensed, but I need someone I can trust.’

  The offer had been a surprise and whilst Jim was doubtful whether he’d see anything in the way of ‘recompense’, he thought quickly what this could mean. ‘Aye, m’lord, I’d be glad to. I’ve good lads working for me on
my farm now, so running me own farm alongside looking after the estate’d be no problem for me. And we’ve got good tenant farmers.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ James had said and a few days later when he left to go to war, Jim had chuckled as he said to his wife, Mary, ‘Good job he doesn’t know what I intend.’

  Mary paused in kneading the dough on her kitchen table and stared at him, the question in her eyes.

  ‘I intend,’ Jim explained, ‘to keep in touch with Lady Annabel. Oh, she won’t be able to come here, of course, but I know she’ll give me good advice if I need it.’

  ‘Does anyone know that you still see her now and then?’

  ‘Oh yes, but not one of them will say owt. Besides, I don’t see her in person that often, but I see her grandfather most weeks on market day in town. And, of course, I hear about her.’

  ‘But you go every so often to the farm to take her the money. They all know that.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Jim had said. All those whom Annabel had helped financially were now making regular repayments to her, handing their hard-earned cash to Jim Chadwick, chosen by all of them to take the money to Annabel.

  ‘And Ben Jackson? Do you ever see him?’

  Sadly, Jim shook his head. ‘No, not from the day I took him to Moffatts’ farm.’

  ‘Does Ben ever come to market?’

  ‘No, Moffatt comes himself. But Ben’s still working for him. I ask after him now and then. And when I do see her, Lady Annabel wants to know everything about what’s happening here. She’s not forgotten us.’

  The estate continued to prosper. The number of livestock had increased steadily and good harvests had brought a modest income back to Fairfield. New – affordable – rents had been set by James, following Jim’s suggestions.