‘Why not, love? I’ll just read a few chapters of my library book, then,’ Mae said comfortably.
Much later, schoolwork done, Thea shouted goodnight to her mother and went upstairs.
A soak in the bath failed to work its usual relaxing therapy, and as Thea climbed into bed, Thea knew she was in for a disturbed night.
Taking a while to glance through the new copy of her equine magazine in the hope of a distraction, she eventually switched off the bedside lamp. She dropped off to sleep at once, moaning softly as the images took shape behind her closed lids….
‘No, Puss! You must stay in the cradle where I put you!’
Florence was a pretty six-year-old with a bright crop of golden ringlets, china-blue eyes and an angelic expression that totally belied her forceful nature.
Her sister, Amelia, a year younger and of a quieter disposition, took pity on the cat and, after a slight hesitation, grudgingly removed her doll from a second toy cradle.
‘Here you are, Florence. Let Puss go and have Mary Rose instead.’
‘No, I don’t want your stupid doll! Dolls are for babies. I like cats best.’
‘I’m not a baby.’ Amelia pouted.
‘Yes, you are.’
‘Not!’
‘You are. Babies play with dolls and that’s all you ever do!’
‘Girls, girls,’ Polly cried, sweeping into the nursery with an armful of freshly laundered linen. ‘What’s all this? You’re never squabbling over poor Puss again?’
The cat seized its opportunity and fled to the high window-sill, where it sat twitching its tail in injured affront. The two little girls, dressed identically in white muslin, their faces shining and rosy with recent washing, immediately forgot their differences and found their most fetching smiles.
‘Here you are at last, Polly!’ Florence said. ‘Are we going to the park now?’
‘Please, Polly. You promised,’ Amelia added.
‘I know I did and yes, we shall go at once while the sun’s out. It will do us good – and I daresay Puss will relish a bit of peace.’
Bundling her small charges into their outdoor clothes, Polly thought how happy she was with her situation here in the tall house on Stanley Square. She adored the little girls.
Their mama, Dorothea Kendrick, had turned out as generous as she was beautiful, giving Polly her cast-off gowns to make over for herself. Jerome Kendrick, the master of the house, was involved in politics and absent a good deal.
Polly knew him as a distant figure, tall and distinguished-looking, with mid-brown hair and a handsomely twirling moustache. There was a son by an earlier marriage – Harry. But Polly didn’t want to think about Harry.
Feeling very trim in her dark blue nurse’s gown and matching bonnet, Polly ushered the girls out into the bright summer day. Weather permitting, most afternoons were spent thus. They either walked in the park or by the River Dee, or took the governess cart for a drive around the leafy lanes that surrounded the city.
Although Polly’s day began early, lighting the nursery fire and dusting, and ended late, since she was often required to attend her mistress when she returned from a dinner engagement or a visit with friends to the theatre, Polly was well satisfied with her lot.
She still fretted over leaving her mother and missed John Royle with a fierce ache that would not go away. But she knew her Aunt Jessica had been right. She was better away from the dangers and insecurities of the Harbour House and the daunting prospect of a loveless marriage.
After spending a pleasant couple of hours taking the air, the little party returned home for the children to have their afternoon nap. As a rule, Polly made use of this quiet time to catch up on some mending or personal sewing. Today, finding herself short of coloured thread, she slipped down to the kitchen for more.
‘A letter’s just arrived for you, Polly,’ Cook, a comfortable body who was also the housekeeper – this being a small household – informed her.
Seeing the Parkgate postmark, Polly stowed the letter away in her apron pocket to read later and lingered for a few moments to chat. Returning by the back-stair, booted feet tapping smartly on the uncarpeted oak treads, bundle of thread clutched to her, she reached the top and was about to cross the shadowy landing when a hand shot out and held her fast.
‘Ho, there, Miss Polly. Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ Harry Kendrick’s voice rasped in her ear.
‘Master Harry! Let me go or I shall scream!’ Polly struggled against his grip, bobbins of thread bouncing to the floor and rolling away in all directions. ‘Let go of me!’
‘Not until I’ve had that kiss.’
‘I’d sooner kiss the pony,’ Polly retorted. ‘Stop this at once or I shall tell the mistress!’
‘It’ll be your word against mine, Polly my sweet. What a feisty creature you are! One little kiss, Polly, then you may go.’
Spirit-laden breath seared Polly’s nostrils and the hands on her shoulders tightened frighteningly. But Polly hadn’t lived all her days in a tavern for nothing. Twisting her head away, she delivered her tormentor’s shin a sharp kick with the pointed toe of her boot. He let out a howl of anguish, swiftly checked.
His hands fell away and Polly ran for it, not stopping until she gained the safety of the nursery quarters. Shutting the door, she shot the bolt and leaned her back to the solid wooden frame, fighting to control her gasping breath. She realized she was shaking.
This wasn’t the first time Harry had made a nuisance of himself and she wasn’t sure what to do. He was a good-looking youth who knew how to wield the charm. Would the mistress believe her word against that of her stepson?
‘Polly?’ A drowsy voice beckoned from the darkened bedroom beyond. ‘Polly, I’m thirsty. I want a drink of water!’
The simple request did much to restore Polly’s scattered wits.
‘Coming, my dear,’ she called, and pouring water from the jug on the side table she went through to where her charges were tucked up in their beds. ‘Want a drink of water – what, young lady?’ Polly asked in mock severity.
‘Please,’ Florence obliged, dimpling.
‘That’s right. What a good girl. Now drink it up, then have another little sleep. It’s muffins for tea, Cook tells me. Won’t that be nice?’
Much later, Polly took out the letter from her aunt and, squinting her eyes in the flickering light of the candle lamp, began to read.…
My dearest niece, Jessica wrote. Polly pictured her, seated at her small writing desk, a morning cup of hot chocolate steaming fragrantly at her elbow. I was gladdened to hear that you are settled in your new post. I keep in excellent health as ever, though I am saddened to report that not the same cannot be said of your poor mama. She is failing, Polly. Today she told me that you are constantly in her thoughts.
Polly’s heart quailed. Somehow she must try to visit her mother. How could she manage it? She wanted desperately to go but the terms of her employment were clear. No leave granted until she had been with the family for twelve calendar months. Polly had only done six as yet.
Even so, perhaps she should contemplate approaching her mistress for leave. Polly pulled the spluttering candle closer and read on.
Now to more cheerful news. I have decided to give a dinner party, Polly – just one of my little gatherings, you know. You will never guess who is on the guest list. None other than your brother Edward and his love, Susanna Marsdon! I have made it my duty to observe the progress of this romance, Polly, and am delighted to see that Susanna has had an agreeably sobering influence on your wild and wilful sibling. Not that I had doubts that he wouldn’t sort himself out in time. I like to see some spirit in a lad. But there. Edward has now abandoned his former ways and tells me he is looking to the legal profession as a career.
Polly read the letter to the end, smiling a little at her aunt’s witty narrative, biting her lip anxiously as she read again the news of her mother’s decline. Too consumed with anxiety to seek her bed, she fetched writing
materials and began to pen a letter of response.
Here, too, was a chance to share the problem over Harry Kendrick. Jessica would know what to do.
At Parkgate, Jessica studied Polly’s missive with interest. Her niece had a sparky turn of phrase and her anecdotes on the small girls and their escapades brought a chuckle. It stopped when she read of the amorous elder son. That Harry! Waylaying pretty nursemaids was not his only weakness, if what she had heard was to be believed – his appetite for gambling and carousing being rife.
It was high time his father took him in hand. Jessica only hoped that Polly had the wit to avoid trouble.
Putting the letter aside for now, she rang for her maid. After several moments the girl appeared, very out of breath, her cap askew as always.
‘There you are, Agnes. Straighten your cap, child. And look at your apron. It’s very soiled.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I was peeling the potatoes and—’
‘In your housemaid’s apron? How often do I have to tell you? You wear your drugget one for kitchen tasks and save your other for wearing out of the kitchen.’
‘Yes’m.’ The maid bobbed a curtsy. ‘Sorry, ma’am. It’ll try to remember, but all this chopping and changing puts me in a twist. Yesterday, I changed that many times I clean forgot where I’d put my good pinny, and by the time I’d found it and put it on the caller had given up and gone!’
Mustering patience, Jessica continued with the task in hand.
‘Have you delivered my invitations to dinner, Agnes?’
‘Yes’m. Mr Rawlinson was in the garden when I turned up so I handed it over to him personally. Very pleased he was with it, too.’
Jessica suppressed a smile. Her little sojourn with George was progressing splendidly. He had sent her a carafe of Rhenish the other day. Before that it was a length of Italian silk for a gown. She did not need to enquire from whence the bounty came.
Most folks hereabouts benefited from a little quiet trafficking and she was no different.
‘And Master Edward? Did he receive his?’
‘Oh, yes’m.’ Agnes put her hand to her lips and giggled. ‘A real tease, is Master Edward. There’s no harm in him, though,’ she added hastily.
‘I should hope not indeed! Agnes, about that the young fisherman who calls.…’
‘He’s due later today, ma’am. Will I tell you when he arrives?’
‘Please do, Agnes. That will be all for now.’
That afternoon, Jessica met up with John Royle. The pleasant-looking, quietly spoken young man was not what she expected.
‘I shan’t beat about the bush,’ she told him. ‘It has come to my knowledge that you wish to exchange your present trade for a venture into the teaching profession.’
‘That is correct, Miss Platt,’ John said mildly.
‘And have you any qualifications in this area?’
‘As many as the next man. I spend much time studying. I have a knowledge of Latin, a smattering of other languages and am an able mathematician and scriber.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Jessica murmured more to herself.
‘Ma’am?’
‘Oh, ’tis nothing. An irritating habit of mine. Irritating to others, that is. Mr Royle, do you mind my asking if you have obtained premises for this school?’
‘Not at all, though I’m afraid the answer is no. I must have made enquiries into every available property in the district, all to no avail.’ He looked wry. ‘No one is prepared to deal with a common fisher lad. I shan’t give up. One day something will come along.’
‘Then I wish you well in your quest, John Royle.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Long after the young man had gone Jessica sat at her desk, deep in thought. Perhaps she had been too hasty in removing Polly. She had liked John Royle and saw what an admirable couple they would have made. Oh, there was that absurd matter of the betrothal between Polly and George, but that could have been dealt with. Jessica was altogether fond of her niece. She was saddened to have been so mistaken.
Thea woke with a start. Her throat was dry, her head heavy. She felt as if she’d been up all night instead of sleeping in her bed. Realizing it was Saturday, with no immediate hurry to get up, she rolled on to her back and let her mind drift. Her ‘dream’ characters, she thought ruefully, were going through as bad a patch as herself.
Or was it all fiction? Were the curious sequences that came to her as she slumbered a result of her own troubled state of mind? At Dominic’s suggestion, she had acquainted herself with some reading on what was termed ‘waking dreams’.
Thea was prepared to accept them for what they were; scenes from the past visiting the dreamer with extraordinary accuracy. But why her? And why now?
Giving up, Thea rose and headed for the shower.
‘Darling, you look dreadful,’ Mae cried as Thea came into the kitchen, her eyes shadowed in her pale face. She had shampooed her hair and bundled it up turban-like in a towel, which did nothing for her strained appearance.
‘Thanks!’ Thea shot her mother a pained look. ‘I had a bad night, Mum, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.’
‘But I am worried. Is it Dominic? You can tell me not to pry if you like….’
‘As if I would.’ Thea smiled ruefully, accepting the tea and toast her mother handed her with a quick smile of affection. She buttered it thoughtfully. Trust me, Dominic had said, but how could she?
‘Yes, you’re right about Dominic, Mum. Something’s going on … I don’t know the details. Just that an ex-girlfriend has arrived on the scene and she’s … well, what Richard would call a bit of a stirrer. Very glam, too.’
Her voice trailed off.
Mae sank down opposite at the table.
‘Oh, dear.’
‘Quite. Dominic has a past he doesn’t talk about.’ She shrugged. ‘All I can say is it was something to do with a doping scandal and it turned nasty.’
‘Dope? Racehorses, you mean?’
Thea nodded.
‘You know he was resident vet at Ferlann Ridge. Well, his girlfriend – they were engaged then – was somehow involved. Dominic was cagey over her part in things. It shattered the relationship, anyway. At least, so he said. And then she turns up again and off he goes with her.’
She sighed.
‘I suppose that’s men for you.’
‘Darling, Dominic doesn’t strike me as being the fickle type.’
‘Me, neither, but it’s scary how manipulative some women can be. Look at Bryony. I wouldn’t mind betting she had designs on Geoff all along.’
‘Thea, surely not!’
‘Well, she was always prinking and preening when he was around. We used to laugh about her. Not that it makes any difference now.’
‘No,’ Mae agreed. ‘Though I think you’re being too hard on your sister. She may have been infatuated but she I’m sure she wouldn’t have deliberately set out to steal Geoff from you.’
Thea wasn’t so certain. A permanent rift between herself and her sister wasn’t what she wanted, but following the events of the past weeks she had to wonder if she could ever trust anyone again.
‘Honestly, Geoff, it’s not on,’ Bryony fumed as they crossed the spacious yard at Roseacre. Yesterday, she had bumped into her mother during her lunch break and been kept for ages on the bustling pavement while Mae unburdened her worries. ‘All Mum could talk about was Thea and how stressed out she is! Some things never change. Thea always was the shining light.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite the case,’ Geoff said gently, pausing in a patch of mellow November sunshine to stand and smile down at her. The cattle were up for the winter, and from their quarters issued an urgent lowing that suggested milking was imminent.
‘I was always aware of how Mae spoke with equal affection of all of you. Chas was different. You could do no wrong in his eyes!’
‘Good old Dad! Bryony chuckled. ‘Someone has to champion the lost cause!’
‘Hey
– stop putting yourself down.’ He looked seriously at her. ‘Bryony, isn’t it time you made it up with your folks? My mother’s never said as much, but I’m sure it worries her that you never go home.’
‘Woodhey isn’t home any more,’ Bryony said evenly. ‘Too much has happened.’
‘Of course it is! They’re your kin and they love you. These things happen in the best of families, but with a bit of effort on both sides they can usually be resolved. Will you think about it, at least?’
It was an issue Bryony had purposely avoided. Chatting to Mum in town now and again was fine, but the prospect of facing her whole family was daunting. The longer she put it off the harder it became. Then again, she supposed Geoff was right. She’d have to think of an excuse for dropping in … some time.
Geoff was looking at her very hard and Bryony, holding his gaze, gave a hesitant nod.
‘That’s my girl!’
In the cattle byre the cows increased their complaint and Geoff glanced up.
‘We’d better get on with the milking. What if we go out for a bite to eat afterwards? It’s a fine day. We could drive to Southport.’
Bryony’s heart leaped. It would be great to go out with Geoff and linger together over a meal.
‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘But what about your mum? Sunday lunch at Woodhey was always a big thing with my parents. I expect it was the same here? We can’t very well leave her on her own just yet.’
‘You know, you’re right. I’d forgotten there’s sure to be a roast on the go.’
Geoff rubbed his face wearily with his hand. Bryony’s heart softened. She knew how hard the difficult recent weeks had been for him. A few hours’ respite away from the farm would have been no bad thing.
‘So what do you suggest?’ he asked eventually.
‘We eat here with your mum as usual – and maybe go for an Italian one night in the week? Thursday might be best. It’s Helen’s WI evening so she’ll be out as well.’
Across the Sands of Time Page 11
