Sons and Daughters

by Margaret Dickinson

  Philip sprang to his feet, ‘Father . . .’ he began, but Miles held up his hand to silence him, his gaze on the older man.

  Osbert merely smiled. ‘I don’t think there’s anything you can do to stop me, Thornton. A man can will his possessions where he wishes. That is the law and, hopefully, by the time I meet my Maker, the boy will be of age and you will no longer have any say in the matter.’

  ‘But your daughter – ’ Miles began.

  Osbert’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you’re so concerned about the girl, then do as I suggest.’

  Miles let out a breath and shook his head. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he muttered. ‘I really don’t. What sort of a father are you?’ When Osbert did not answer, Miles asked huskily, ‘Where is she? Where is Charlotte?’

  Osbert raised his eyebrows. ‘Coming round to it, are we?’

  ‘Most certainly not,’ Miles snapped. ‘I just want to see for myself that she’s all right.’

  ‘She’s all right,’ Osbert said dismissively. ‘Locked herself in her bedroom, that’s all.’

  Miles stared at him as he asked icily, ‘And why would she need to do that?’

  ‘Who knows what foolish girls will do or why they do it?’ He glared at Miles as he added bitterly, ‘But then you wouldn’t know that, would you, being blessed with sons?’

  Miles grunted and marched from the room, across the hall and through the door leading to the kitchen. As he entered the room, Mary threw up her hands in surprise, flour from the bowl in which she was mixing pastry scattering everywhere. ‘Oh, Mr Thornton!’

  With wide eyes, Peggy turned from the sink where she was peeling apples, but Edward, carrying logs in through the back door, merely nodded and greeted him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to see him there. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

  Miles took a deep breath, wondering if he’d overstepped the line of propriety. But for once, he didn’t care. He was encouraged when Peggy dried her hands and indicated a Windsor chair set near the range. ‘Please – sit down, sir. I’ll make a cup of tea.’

  ‘It would be very welcome, Mrs Warren, but please don’t go to any trouble.’

  ‘No trouble, sir.’ She smiled. ‘Edward and Mary never say no to a cuppa.’

  As he sat down he said, ‘I just wanted to know how Miss Charlotte is. I can’t seem to get any kind of answer from her father.’

  The other three in the room glanced at each other uncomfortably. Mary spoke up. ‘To tell you the truth, sir, we don’t rightly know ourselves and we’re worried about her.’

  Shocked, Miles glanced from one to the other. ‘You – you don’t know?’

  Edward dropped the logs into the hearth. ‘When she got home from the harvest supper on Friday night, she ran upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom. We haven’t seen her since.’

  ‘We’ve left trays outside her room,’ Mary said. ‘But she’s touched nothing.’

  ‘Only a jug of water I took up – and a glass. She’s taken that in,’ Peggy put in. ‘But she’s eaten nothing.’

  ‘But you’ve spoken to her?’

  ‘We’ve tried, sir, but she won’t answer.’

  ‘But – but she might be ill. Have you a key for the door?’

  Edward shook his head. ‘We’ve knocked and called, but there’s no answer. We’ve all tried.’

  ‘Her father too?’

  Mary snorted. ‘Not him! No. He wouldn’t care if she were alive or dead. An’ he’s up to summat. I know he is.’

  ‘Mary,’ Edward said softly, warningly. Miles and Peggy exchanged a glance and he knew she’d done as he’d asked. She’d kept the conversation he’d shared with her family to herself. But perhaps it was time that these good people – the Morgans – who obviously had Charlotte’s welfare at heart, knew, too, just how devious their master was.

  Mary covered her face with her apron and sobbed. ‘I’m out of me mind wi’ worry, sir. We don’t know what to do.’

  Peggy handed a cup of tea to Miles and turned to Mary. Gently she pushed her into a chair at the table and placed a cup of tea in front of her. ‘Here, Mary love, drink this. It’ll be all right now Mr Thornton’s here. He’ll help us. He’ll tell us what to do.’

  There was a long silence in the kitchen whilst they all drank their tea.

  ‘We must do something,’ Miles said. ‘She might be ill.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of, sir,’ Mary said, recovering a little. ‘She walked all the way home from the manor on Friday night with no coat or hat. I’m so afraid she might have taken a chill.’

  Miles stood up and set his empty cup down on the table. He glanced round at the three anxious faces. ‘I’m willing to do whatever it takes, but you do realize, don’t you, that this could cause trouble for you? All of you. Because if I get involved, he’ll know it’s come from you.’

  Edward nodded. ‘We know that, sir, and we’re not bothered for ourselves. Just Miss Charlotte. Though mebbe Peggy should go home. Keep out of it. She’s her family to think of.’

  But Peggy shook her head adamantly. ‘No, Joe would back me up. And so would the boys. If he turns us all out, then so be it. We’ve that poor lass to think of.’

  Miles nodded grimly. ‘Very well. First of all, Mrs Morgan, you go upstairs and have one last try to get her to open the door. If only she would, it would make things a lot easier.’

  Mary got up eagerly. ‘You come an’ all, Peggy.’

  ‘Shall we tell her you’re here, sir, and want to see her?’

  ‘Of course, if you think it’ll help.’

  The two women disappeared and the two men were left to wait anxiously in the kitchen. Several minutes passed before Mary and Peggy returned, shaking their heads.

  ‘No sound, sir. We can’t hear a thing.’

  Miles smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘Then we must take drastic action.’ He looked at Edward again. ‘You really haven’t got a key?’

  ‘As far as I know, there’s only the one and she’s got that.’

  Miles turned on his heel. ‘I’ll ask her father.’

  ‘Sir, I wouldn’t . . .’ Edward began, but Miles had already gone and was striding through the house back to the sitting room. Edward gave a helpless shrug and followed him.

  Without even knocking, Miles marched into the room. Osbert and Philip were still seated as he had left them, leaning towards each other, deep in conversation. They both looked up in surprise as the door was flung open and Miles entered like a whirlwind.

  ‘It seems, Mr Crawford, that Charlotte might be ill. She’s locked herself in her room and won’t answer. Have you another key?’

  ‘Let her be.’ The man waved his hand. ‘She’ll come out when she’s hungry.’

  ‘It’s been two days. If she was all right, she’d surely have come out by now.’ He glared at the man who was lying back in his chair. Anger boiled up inside him. ‘Have you a key, sir?’ he shouted.

  Slowly, Osbert turned his head. ‘No, I have not. And even if I had, I wouldn’t give it to you.’

  ‘Then you have two choices,’ Miles burst out. ‘Either I break the door down or I call the police.’

  ‘Father—’ Philip was on his feet.

  ‘Be quiet, boy! You’re partly the cause of all this. If you were man enough, you’d refuse his ridiculous suggestion, but no, you’re too selfish and greedy.’ There, it was said, and whilst he was sorry, it had needed saying, he didn’t regret it for it was the truth.

  White-faced with shock, Philip sank back into his chair. He couldn’t remember his father ever speaking to him so harshly.

  Miles’s attention turned back to Osbert Crawford. ‘Very well. You leave me no alternative.’ He turned and left the room once more, taking the stairs two at a time. Mary, Peggy and even Edward were waiting for him at the top.

  ‘This is her door, sir,’ Mary said, gesturing to her right.

  He knocked gently on the door and called out. ‘Miss Charlotte. It’s Miles Thornton. We are all
anxious about you. If you can, please open the door.’

  There was silence, not even the sound of movement from within the room.

  Miles turned the doorknob, though he knew it was futile. ‘Charlotte,’ he called now with more firmness in his tone. ‘If you don’t open the door, I shall break it down. Can you hear me?’

  Still, there was no response.

  Mary moved close to the door and cried, ‘Please, Miss Charlotte, open the door. Mr Thornton means what he says.’

  Silence.

  Miles turned and nodded towards Edward. ‘Right, let’s give it a go.’

  Edward looked at the door doubtfully. ‘I don’t reckon we can brek it open wi’ just our shoulders, sir. ’Tis a solid door and the lock’s sturdy.’

  ‘We’ll try. If we can’t we’ll have to fetch something to use as a battering ram. Right,’ Miles said, putting his shoulder to the door. ‘Are you ready?’

  But as Edward stood beside him, they all heard the key turn in the lock. They glanced at each other in surprise and relief. Miles stood aside and motioned for Mary to go in first. ‘See if she’s all right first, before we all troop in,’ Miles said, though in his growing anxiety for the girl, he would readily have charged in first.

  Entering, Mary stood a moment, glancing round the room. Miles saw her eyes widen and her mouth fall open. ‘What is it?’ he demanded urgently. ‘What’s the matter?’ Unable to contain his impatience any longer, Miles pushed the door wider and stepped into the room. With like urgency, Edward and Peggy were close behind him.

  Charlotte was sitting in the far corner at a small table, a paintbrush in her hand, her head bowed in concentration.

  ‘Miss Charlotte,’ Mary said tentatively, ‘why didn’t you open the door? It’s been two whole days. We’ve been that worried . . .’ Now a note of reproach crept into the woman’s tone. The girl seemed in perfect health, calmly pursuing her hobby as if nothing was wrong. And yet . . .

  Miles touched Mary’s arm. ‘Gently, Mrs Morgan. There must be something . . .’

  ‘Charlotte?’ Mary tried again, but it was Peggy who pushed the others aside and crossed the room towards Charlotte.

  ‘Now, miss,’ she began gently, but with a note of firmness, ‘you’ve had us all worried and here’s Mr Thornton – oh!’ Her words ended on a startled cry and her hand flew to cover her mouth. She glanced back at the others still standing near the door. Then she turned back to the young woman, knelt down beside her and put her arms round her waist.

  ‘Oh, Miss Charlotte. Whatever happened?’

  Now Mary rushed forward and she, too, stood staring down at Charlotte, her hand to her mouth. Miles and Edward glanced at each other before also moving towards her.

  With a sigh, Charlotte laid down her brush and turned to face them all. Down the left-hand side of her face was an ugly weal and her eye was swollen until it was all but closed, the bruise blackening the tender area around her eye.

  ‘My God!’ Miles muttered. ‘When did that happen? And how?’ He already guessed the answer, but he had to be sure. He’d heard Georgie saying that Mr Crawford had hit Charlotte. He’d thought his son must have been mistaken, but now the evidence was before him.

  Charlotte bowed her head. ‘I – I’m sorry to have worried you all, but I didn’t want anyone to see. I – I’m so ashamed.’

  Peggy, still kneeling beside her and looking up into her face, said, ‘Ashamed? Why should you be ashamed?’

  ‘I – I made a fool of myself at the Harvest Supper. I—’

  Four voices spoke at once, refuting her.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Miles Thornton’s voice rose above the rest and then asked the question, the answer to which they had all guessed already. ‘Did he do that to you? Your father? Did it happen as you were leaving the other night?’

  Miserably, Charlotte nodded. Silently, Miles made a vow never to disregard anything Georgie said again.

  ‘Mary, pack her clothes. I’m taking her back to the manor with me. I’ll have the doctor look at her and then—’

  Charlotte looked up in fear. ‘No – no, I can’t do that. I can’t leave here. Who would—?’ She stopped whatever she had been going to say and bit her lip, lowering her head again. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I can’t leave. It’s not possible.’

  Anger surged through Miles. The girl’s loyalty to her father and to Buckthorn Farm was admirable – but sadly misplaced. He was sure that she was totally unaware of her father’s schemes. She could have no idea that he intended to leave her penniless when he died. He ran his fingers through his hair. So many underhand goings-on. And for the moment, he didn’t know how to handle it. He needed time to think. And he needed to tell Philip just what sort of a man his benefactor was.

  Twenty-One

  Miles returned home deep in thought. He tried to tell himself it was none of his business. He was a newcomer to the district; he had no right to interfere. Yet his conscience would not let the matter rest. He could not stand by and let that poor girl be cheated out of her rightful inheritance, nor see his selfish son benefit from such an absurd and vengeful action by a man who was obviously unbalanced. Osbert Crawford’s desire for a son was out of all proportion. It had been an obsession and his only issue – a daughter – was being made to pay the price for something that was not her fault.

  Miles called his three sons into his study. They stood before him as he gazed at each one. Philip, the eldest, tall and slim, golden haired and handsome. But his angelic looks hid a selfish, ambitious streak. Ben – the quiet one. Dark haired with brown eyes – solemn and deep-thinking. He was perhaps the cleverest of the three, and it was to him that Miles would turn to run his affairs when he was no longer capable. He knew that already, even though the boy was still so young. There was something dependable about Ben.

  And then there was Georgie. The adorable scamp. Still so young, but already showing the ebullient character he would always be. He would always – always, Miles knew – put others before himself. Everyone loved Georgie – even Philip, albeit grudgingly, in spite of himself. And throughout his life, Georgie would always be loved. Miles cherished all three of his boys – he’d give his life for them, just as his beloved Louisa had given hers to bring their youngest child into the world. But there was still a tiny corner in his heart – a special place – that had always been reserved for a daughter. A little girl whom he could dote on and spoil. But it had always remained just that: a wish which had not been fulfilled, but which would never, ever, become an obsession that would overshadow and eat away his love for his sons.

  Miles sighed. ‘Sit down, boys. This may take a little time.’ He paused whilst they settled themselves. Georgie wriggled to get himself comfortable, his legs swinging. He had a wide grin on his face; he felt important at being included in a family discussion. But Ben looked apprehensive and Philip mutinous.

  Miles leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers together. ‘I’ve seen Miss Charlotte.’

  ‘Is she all right, Papa?’ Georgie couldn’t help interrupting.

  ‘Yes – and no.’ He paused, wondering how best to explain. ‘She’d locked herself in her room since Friday night because she’s got a nasty bruise on the left side of her face. She was ashamed to let anyone see it.’

  ‘Why? I mean, why was she ashamed?’ Georgie asked innocently.

  ‘Because of how she got it, stupid,’ Philip muttered.

  Unperturbed by his brother’s insult, Georgie was still anxious about Charlotte.

  Ben said nothing, but he regarded his father steadily. He was taking in and digesting every word.

  ‘I know he hit her on Friday night. I saw it,’ Georgie said, tears starting in his eyes at the memory. ‘What I don’t understand is – why?’

  Georgie, who’d never been hit by his father in his life, not even spanked, had been horrified. He’d had bad dreams about it each night since.

  ‘It seems he thinks she misbehaved at the Harvest Supper.’

  Misbehaved? Th
e little boy frowned. That was a word that was applied to him if he was naughty, not to a grown-up like Miss Charlotte.

  ‘He didn’t like to see her dancing with the vicar,’ Miles tried to explain. ‘In fact, he didn’t even want her to come to the festivities. He’s never allowed her to attend in the past.’ Now he must admit his own part in the incident. ‘I’m afraid it was I who persuaded him to let her come.’ He glanced uncomfortably at Philip. ‘You were the bait.’

  ‘The bait?’

  Miles sighed. ‘Mr Crawford wanted all three of you to be present, but especially you, Philip. I sort of implied that you would be there as long as he allowed Miss Charlotte to come too.’

  ‘Why’s he never let her go before?’ Georgie asked.

  ‘Because he’s ashamed of her,’ Philip said scathingly. ‘She’s drab and plain and never likely to find a husband. I expect he thinks everyone will ridicule her, snigger about her behind her back.’

  ‘But they don’t laugh at her, do they?’ Ben put in quietly. His father and brothers all turned to look at him. Such was the rarity of Ben putting forward his opinion that, when he did, everyone listened. ‘At church all the villagers greet her and talk to her. They’re fond of her. You can see they are. And the children – her Sunday school class – they all love her.’ It was a long speech for Ben and by the time he’d finished, he lowered his head, his face red.

  ‘That’s right,’ Georgie said excitedly. ‘He’s right, Papa. They do. Everyone was disappointed when she wasn’t there this morning.’

  ‘So,’ Miles said slowly, ‘what d’you think we should do to help her?’

  ‘You could always marry her,’ Philip said sarcastically. ‘As the old man suggested.’

  Miles glared at him, a jolt of anger running through him suddenly. ‘I thought you said you didn’t want that. Not even if it robs you of your inheritance?’

  Philip smiled smugly. ‘He’s dropped that condition. He’s promised to leave me his entire estate anyway. He told me so this morning. And yes, since you’re all so concerned, he is ashamed of his daughter. She’s neither use nor ornament. That’s what he said.’