by Dilly Court
‘I think that is enough for today,’ Sir Hector said, giving her a worried look. ‘You are tired and I mustn’t overwork you, Lucetta. Leave the transcription until tomorrow, my dear. There is nothing so urgent than it cannot wait and I have an appointment with the Lord Mayor of Dorchester, which I must keep.’ He rose to his feet and came round the desk to stand beside her. ‘We will begin again tomorrow, when you are thoroughly rested.’ He laid his hand on her shoulder but removed it almost immediately. ‘Why don’t you go and find Mary?’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m sure she is dying to show you the house where Giles hopes to start up his practice.’
He left the room without waiting for her response, and Lucetta closed her notebook, setting it back on the desk. She stood up, smoothing down her crumpled skirts. Everything she owned had been bought and paid for by Sir Hector’s generosity. He might pretend that she was earning her food and keep, but she knew that she was living off his charity, and despite her feeling of detachment from the real world she was beginning to suspect that there was something underlying his apparent kindness. She had seen a light in his eyes that was neither paternal nor the look of a mere benefactor. She had not given it much thought until now, but she realised that despite his wealth and position, Sir Hector was a lonely man. She hoped that she was mistaken, but his remarks regarding the difference in their ages had left her feeling uncomfortable and a little suspicious. She spent some time tidying his desk, but in the end she knew that she could put it off no longer and she went in search of Mary.
After a light luncheon in the morning parlour, Lucetta and Mary set off for the village, walking through leafy lanes where the trees leaned over to touch branches, forming shady tunnels. The road ran alongside the stream which turned a huge water wheel, sending a fine mist into the air and catching the sunlight to form rainbows as the water tumbled back into the millstream. The mill house resonated with the rhythmic sound of the millstone grinding the corn, and a film of white flour dusted the hedgerows like hoar frost in winter. In contrast the still waters of the millpond were dark and mysterious, but made less sinister by the families of ducks floating on its surface like children’s toys. Lining the river banks, half hidden by a curtain of weeping willows, thatched farm workers’ cottages were interspersed with a blacksmith’s forge, a school house and a village shop selling everything from candles to calico. Behind a grey stone wall lay the graveyard and the Norman church with its square bell tower. Yew trees grew in abundance, shading the moss-covered gravestones, and a funeral was in progress as Lucetta and Mary walked past, the coffin resting temporarily beneath the lychgate as the mourners processed along the street which forked to embrace the village green. On the far side Lucetta saw a three-storey stone house with a tiled roof and mansard windows. Ivy clambered up its walls and roses spilled their scarlet petals in a carpet around the front door.
‘There it is,’ Mary said proudly, pointing to a brass plaque on the door jamb. ‘This is the doctor’s house and surgery which Papa wants to help Giles purchase. It is everything I could have hoped for him, and I know he will make a splendid family physician.’
‘And you would make him a wonderful wife,’ Lucetta said softly.
Mary’s cheeks flamed scarlet to match the roses climbing round the porch. ‘Wherever did you get that idea, Lucetta?’
‘Oh, Mary, I’ve known all along that you love Giles.’
Mary stared down at her dusty shoes ‘I do love him, but not in the way you think. I might have harboured romantic thoughts once, a long time ago, but it was just a silly girl’s infatuation.’
‘I could say the same for myself, I suppose.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Mary cried, throwing her arms around Lucetta and giving her a hug. ‘What am I thinking of bringing you here and going on about my family when I know how you must be suffering? You must try to forget Sam. There are plenty of good men who would be proud to love a girl like you, regardless of whether you are rich or poor.’
‘And you really do not think of Giles in a romantic way?’ Lucetta held her breath, studying Mary’s face in an attempt to gauge her true feelings.
‘I’ve told you, Daisy. It was a childish crush. I’ve outgrown it completely.’ Mary turned away to pluck a single rose that trailed over the wall. She inhaled its scent with a smile. ‘He should be home tomorrow or the day after, and he will need all our help to make the new house comfortable. I’ve only been inside once and it was very shabbily furnished. It smelt of dogs and disinfectant and it badly needed a woman’s touch. I can’t wait to get those dreadful old curtains down and hang something pretty in their place. Of course the whole house needs a thorough clean, but we can get a woman in from the village to scrub the floors and polish the woodwork. Give me a month and I will have the house fit for a king.’
‘Or even a country doctor.’ Lucetta smiled in spite of her misgivings.
‘Especially a country doctor. I want only the best for Giles; he deserves nothing less.’ Mary squeezed her arm. ‘When Papa returns from Dorchester I’ll ask him if we can get the house keys and tomorrow we can go and see what needs to be done, for I’m sure that Giles wouldn’t know where to start, and his sisters are not interested in anything other than the current fashions, card parties and balls. I love them dearly, but I’m afraid to say they are all quite shallow.’
‘Shallow isn’t the word I would use to describe them,’ Lucetta said wryly. ‘But perhaps they improve on better acquaintance.’
Mary linked her hand through Lucetta’s arm. ‘Let’s stop at the wishing well for tea. I think we both may have something to wish for.’
It was late in the afternoon when they returned home and Lucetta went to her room. She sat on the padded window seat looking down on the gardens basking in the June sunshine. Butterflies flitted about in the flowerbeds below her, looking like tiny pieces of coloured tissue paper blowing in the gentle breeze. She closed her eyes, inhaling the warm scent of roses and honeysuckle as she listened to the country sounds that she had come to love. The babbling of the stream, the buzzing of bees and the twittering of birds in the trees was music to her ears, but the song they sang was one of farewell. She was doing no good by staying here. Despite Mary’s protests that she had long grown out of her youthful infatuation, Lucetta remained unconvinced. She was certain that Mary would make an ideal wife for Giles, and that he would come to realise that, but it would not happen unless she removed herself from the picture.
There was only one course open to her now and that was to leave Stockton Lacey and return to London where she truly belonged. She made her mind up to speak to Sir Hector after dinner that evening. If she explained the situation carefully she was certain that he would listen with a sympathetic ear. He had been pleased with her work as his secretary, and if he could be persuaded to give her a good character she might find similar work, maybe for another Member of Parliament like himself. Painful though it might be, the time had come for her to leave before she did irreparable harm to those whom she had grown to love.
‘What?’ Sir Hector stared at Lucetta with bloodshot eyes. He had imbibed heavily before dinner and during the meal, and he had been in a jovial mood when he returned from his luncheon engagement with the Mayor. Lucetta suspected that they had drunk quite a few glasses of wine with their meal, but his mood had changed suddenly when she had attempted to explain her reasons for wanting to leave. They were alone in the drawing room, Mary having retired early to bed, worn out by the day’s excitement and exertion.
‘This is utter nonsense,’ Sir Hector said, pouring himself a generous measure of brandy. He tossed it back in one gulp. ‘I’m sorry, my dear girl. I didn’t mean to raise my voice but this is all foolishness and must stop. You cannot run away because you have received an offer of marriage from a besotted young man.’
‘It is not any young man, sir. We are talking about Giles, the man your daughter worships and adores. He is the man that Mary was destined to marry, until I came along and almost ruined everything.’
‘Giles doesn’t know what he wants,’ Sir Hector said dismissively. ‘He’s a good fellow, but he lives in a bubble. His life has been lived in the narrow confines of school, university and then the hospital where the women he meets are either dying of fever or are career-minded blue-stockings.’
‘Mary is not like that, sir.’
‘Of course not. I wasn’t including my daughter with women like Sister Demarest and Matron who would, if she were on the battlefield, have terrified even the Iron Duke.’
‘Mary is an angel, sir. I love her like a sister and I would cut off my right arm rather than hurt her. I agree with your assessment of Giles, and that is why I must go away now before it is too late. He thinks he is in love with me, but I have just aroused his chivalrous feelings and he is sorry for me, which he has mistaken for something deeper. Once I am gone he will turn to Mary, of that I am certain.’
Sir Hector placed his glass down on the sofa table. He came towards her, swaying a little as he walked. He was so close that she could smell the alcohol on his breath, with just the hint of a Havana cigar. She dropped her gaze, unable to meet his eyes, but he placed his finger beneath her chin, raising her head so that she was forced to look at him. ‘You are a good girl,’ he said thickly. ‘You are very young, but I think that you are old for your years. You don’t have to go, Lucetta my dear. There is an obvious answer to both our problems if you will hear me out.’
She brushed his hand away more in panic than anger. ‘Please don’t, Sir Hector.’
He caught her round the waist, holding her tightly so that her body was pressed against his. ‘You are not a schoolroom miss. You have known what it is to love and want a man, you told me so yourself. I am not trying to seduce you, my dear. I am offering you marriage, respectability, an old family name. In short, Lucetta, I am asking you to marry me. Disregard the gap in our ages, it doesn’t matter. I will do my utmost to make you happy.’
‘Please let me go,’ Lucetta cried, struggling to break away.
‘I won’t hurt you, my little dove,’ Sir Hector said, smiling tipsily. ‘I will treat you like a queen. You will want for nothing.’
She could see that words alone were not going to save her and she went limp in his arms. ‘I don’t know what to say, sir. May I have time to consider your offer?’
He slackened his grip, staring down into her face with an unfocused gaze, and then he released her, bowing from the waist with a flourish. ‘Of course, my pet. Anything you say. But don’t keep me waiting too long, Lucetta. I admit that I might have had a little too much to drink tonight, but my blood is hot and I want an answer quickly. I’ll give you until tomorrow evening, and when you have made up your mind to accept my offer, we’ll be married by special licence and spend our honeymoon in Paris.’ He took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘I will buy your trousseau in the top fashion houses. You will be Lady Harcourt, how does that sound to you, my darling?’
Lucetta backed away from him, forcing her cold lips into a smile. ‘Too good to be true, Sir Hector.’ She was close to the door now and she made her escape.
She did not stop running until she reached her own room. She locked the door behind her and only just made it to the bed before her knees gave way beneath her. She was trembling violently and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick. Gradually her nerves gave way to anger, but she was furious with herself, not with the hapless lonely man who had offered her a life of luxury and respectability. She must, she thought, have done something terribly wrong in her dealings with men to make both Giles and Sir Hector think that they were in love with her. She had never set out to charm them or to flirt. Perhaps it was her vulnerability and helplessness that had attracted them to her, but whatever it was she could not stay to find out. She must leave now before matters grew too complicated and painful for all parties.
She packed a few necessities in the pigskin valise that Mary had given her, leaving her best silk gown with a feeling of deep regret, but the voluminous skirts would not fit inside the small case, and where she was going she doubted if she would need anything so grand. She waited until the house was quiet and the sound of the servants treading the backstairs to their beds had died away, and then she left her room, creeping downstairs to Sir Hector’s study. Taking a sheet of headed writing paper, she dipped a pen in the silver inkwell and wrote a glowing reference for herself, signing it in a fair copy of Sir Hector’s hand. Having folded it and put it in an envelope, she took another sheet and wrote a note to Sir Hector. She thanked him and Mary for their unstinting kindness and generosity. She begged their pardon for her manner of leaving, and she urged them not to look for her. She ended by wishing them well, and dashing the tears from her eyes, she blotted the missive and left it in a prominent position on the desk.
She returned to the drawing room and, lifting the sash, she climbed out of the window onto the terrace. It was a fine summer night with a full moon and myriads of diamond-bright stars to light her way. Keeping close to the house, she made her way to the shadow of the trees. She had to struggle with the heavy iron gates but managed to squeeze through without causing the hinges to groan and give her away. Once outside the grounds she set off walking in the direction of Dorchester, where she intended to get the first train to London.
She had no idea how far it was, but she was unused to walking long distances and she soon tired. The valise which had seemed so light at the outset began to feel as though it was packed with bricks, and her arm ached miserably. The thin soles of her boots were not designed for tramping miles on stony roads, and after an hour or so she was forced to sit down by the roadside. She resumed walking after a brief respite, following the Roman road which stretched in a straight line like a silver ribbon between hedgerows and fields where sleeping cows lay like gigantic molehills on the dewy grass. She longed to rest, but it was midsummer and the nights were short As she trudged onwards the end of the road seemed to get further and further away. She was exhausted and almost at the point of collapse when she heard the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves behind her. She stopped and turned to see a farm cart laden with milk churns lumbering towards her. The farmer pushed his billycock hat to the back of his head, staring at her curiously as he drew his animal to a halt. ‘D’you want a lift to town, maidy?’
‘Oh, yes please.’ Lucetta handed him her valise and heaved her tired limbs up onto the seat beside him. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged.’
‘Running away, are you?’ He clicked his tongue against his teeth and flicked the reins so that his steady old nag lurched forwards. ‘Maidservant, are you? Going to meet your lover then?’
‘That’s right,’ Lucetta agreed. She was too tired to argue. She leaned back against the hard wooden rail and closed her eyes.
She was awakened with a jolt as the cart stopped and the farmer leapt from his seat to begin unloading the churns. It was sunrise and to her intense relief they had stopped outside the railway station. She picked up her case and clambered down to the ground. ‘How much do I owe you, sir?’
‘Nought, maidy. I was coming anyway.’
Before she had had time to thank him he hefted a heavy churn on his back and staggered off towards the platform where a train was waiting.
Lucetta bought a single ticket to Waterloo and was relieved to find an empty compartment. She settled herself in the corner seat and closed her eyes, but a sudden noise made her snap upright as the door to her carriage was opened and three young soldiers climbed in laughing and talking loudly.
‘Well, what have we here,’ the boldest of the three said, sitting down beside her. ‘What’s your name, my dear?’
‘Leave her be, Joe.’ The youngest-looking seemed little more than a boy and he took the seat opposite Lucetta. ‘Don’t take no notice of Joe, miss. He thinks he’s a masher but he ain’t.’
‘Shut your face, Billy-boy. This young lady knows a gent when she sees one, don’t you, dearie?’ Joe laid his hand on Lucetta’s knee.
The
third soldier, who had the raw-boned look of a man country born and bred, slapped Joe on the back. ‘I’ll have her next, Joe. I’ll show her what a real man can do.’
Lucetta leapt to her feet. ‘Leave me alone. I’m not that sort of girl.’
‘Ho, ho, airs and graces,’ Joe said, pulling her down onto his lap. ‘I like a bit of spirit. Lady’s maid are you, love?’
Lucetta struggled to free herself but he had her tightly around the waist. She took a swipe at his face but she missed and merely knocked his cap sideways over his ear.
‘Let her go,’ Billy said anxiously. ‘There are officers on the train, Joe.’
They had not bothered to close the carriage door and as Lucetta uttered a scream of protest an officer resplendent in a scarlet uniform entered the compartment. ‘What’s going on here?’
The men stood up to salute their superior and Lucetta slid to the floor in a flurry of petticoats.
‘Get out or I’ll put you all on a charge,’ the officer snapped.
Shamefaced like naughty schoolboys the troopers filed out onto the platform and stood to attention. Lucetta scrambled to her feet listening to the officer giving the men a good dressing down before ordering them to find another carriage. A blast from the guard’s whistle was followed by a gust of steam from the engine as it started to pull out of the station. The officer leapt inside the compartment and slammed the door, pulling up the window as columns of steam and smoke blew back along the track.
Lucetta eyed him warily as he took a seat in the far corner. He doffed his plumed hat with a smile and a flourish. ‘I apologise profusely for my men, miss. They meant no harm but they are little better than animals with farmyard instincts and have not the slightest idea how to treat a lady.’ He rose to his feet, swaying with the movement of the train. ‘May I introduce myself, ma’am. Lieutenant Ralph Randall at your service.’
