Sons and Daughters

by Margaret Dickinson

  Edward was shaking his head. ‘’Tis very kind of you, ma’am, but as long as Miss Charlotte’s settled and cared for, then maybe it’s time me an’ Mary thought about retiring.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘We’re not getting any younger, as the saying goes.’

  There was silence as they all looked towards Charlotte. It was for her to make the momentous decision. She took a deep breath. ‘Aunt Euphemia – Uncle Percy. I am touched by your kindness. Really I am. We’ve only just met and yet here you are offering me a home.’ Tears filled her eyes. She’d rarely known such thoughtfulness. And from comparative strangers, too, even though they were blood relatives. She bit her lip, not quite knowing how to phrase her next words. ‘At the moment, everything here is in turmoil. I really don’t know what’s going to happen. If my father didn’t really mean what he said yesterday, then I must stay here and – and run the farm.’

  ‘Run the farm?’ Euphemia almost squeaked. ‘You run the farm?’

  Charlotte lowered her gaze. It had been kept a secret for so many years that she found it hard even now to break her silence. But Edward had no such qualms – not now.

  ‘Miss Charlotte has run things since she was about eighteen. When she was growing up, she helped around the farm all the time. The labourers and their families have been her friends, ma’am. As she got older, your brother passed more and more responsibility on to her shoulders. “You see to it, girl,” he’d say, waving his hand and disappearing into the sitting room. D’you know, ma’am, except for church on a Sunday, he’s spent the last few years shut away in that room. I mean, if he’d been off out to the city or going to shooting parties or to market, like he used to, I could’ve understood it. But no, he’s done nothing ’cept sit in that room ever since – ’ he paused abruptly, cleared his throat and then went on, ‘well, for years. He’s had no life, ma’am, and, if you’ll excuse me saying so, he’s made sure his daughter hasn’t had either.’

  ‘Yes,’ Euphemia said slowly. ‘I can see that.’ She turned back to Charlotte. ‘But you still feel – duty-bound, I suppose – to stay here?’

  Charlotte sighed. ‘At least until things sort themselves out a little. Then I’ll know. But I must see that Mary and Edward are all right.’ She held out her hand and reached for Mary. ‘But for them’ – her voice was husky with emotion – ‘I don’t know what would have happened to me.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Charlotte,’ Mary wept.

  ‘I do understand,’ Euphemia said. ‘We just want you to know that you’ll always have a place to come to if ever you should need it.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunt.’

  ‘And now, I’ll brave the lion in his den one last time. I still don’t like being at loggerheads with my brother, but there you are. There’s nothing more I can do. I’ve tried.’

  In the sitting room Osbert was as truculent and determined as ever. ‘I don’t want to see you again, Euphemia. You’re nothing to me. And if you think you’ve a right to the farm when I’m gone, then you can think again. I shall be making a will that cannot be broken. Philip Thornton will get everything.’

  Euphemia, for once in her life lost for words, turned away and, with her husband, stalked from the house.

  In the farmhouse kitchen, Charlotte, Mary and Edward sat around the table.

  ‘There’s something you’ll have to know,’ Charlotte began. ‘I don’t usually break confidences, but I know I can trust you both.’ Quickly, she told them of the misfortune that had befallen the Warren family. To her surprise, they both took the news calmly and philosophically.

  ‘We knew summat was wrong, but not what.’ Mary sighed and shrugged. ‘It happens, Miss Charlotte. I could tell you about one or two folks round here whose marriages were hastily arranged and then their bairns appeared less than six or seven months afterwards.’ She smiled. ‘But I won’t.’

  ‘The Warrens took it hard at first, but I think they’re coming to terms with it now. They’ll all stand by her.’

  ‘Of course they will,’ Mary said firmly. She wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  The two young men, crouching in the long grass near a copse to the south of Ravensfleet, watched as the rider on horseback approached.

  ‘Is it him?’ John whispered. ‘We don’t want to get the wrong one.’

  ‘I don’t much care as long as ’tis a Thornton,’ Jackson muttered.

  ‘It could be the master. Philip’s horse is that big black one that Miss Charlotte brought home to break in. That’s a grey.’

  Jackson squinted through the grass. ‘Aye, but it’s him right, enough. It’s Philip.’

  ‘Are you sure he ain’t gone back to school? All the kids round here have gone back.’

  ‘Nah – his fancy school don’t start back till next week. It’s him, right enough. Look sharp – he’s coming this way.’

  ‘I’m not sure we ought to be doing this,’ John murmured.

  ‘He needs teaching a lesson. He’s brought our sister down. He’s going to pay.’

  As the horse neared the shadow of the trees, its pace slowed. The brothers stretched a rope across the pathway – and waited.

  Thirty-Two

  In the afternoon, Charlotte went into Ravensfleet to do some shopping. Walking across the market place, she heard shouting coming from the direction of the school.

  It was ‘home time’ and the cries of joy as the children were let out for the day always made her smile. But then her smile faded. The cries she was hearing today were not the joyful sounds of laughter she’d expected. She glanced down the side road leading out of the market place where the school was situated. A group of boys – and even a few girls – were standing in a circle on the pathway and spilling out on to the road. They were shouting and yelling encouragement to two boys fighting in the centre of the ring.

  Charlotte hurried towards the mêlée, glancing around for a teacher who might put a stop to the trouble. But there was no one.

  ‘Never someone in authority when you want them,’ she muttered to herself and quickened her step. Placing her shopping basket on the ground, she waded in amongst the crowd of children.

  ‘Stop it! Stop it at once,’ she shouted. As she pushed her way through, she saw to her horror that the two boys fighting were Tommy Warren and Georgie Thornton. ‘Not you two again,’ she said, grasping them strongly, one in each hand. ‘Stop it – the pair of you.’ As she pulled the two boys apart, they stood glaring at each other, gasping for breath. Georgie had a bleeding nose and Tommy’s eye was beginning to swell alarmingly. His lip was cut and bleeding too.

  Still holding them, Charlotte turned back to the other children. ‘Away home with you. The fight’s over.’

  ‘No, it ain’t, miss. Not till I’ve knocked ’im flat.’

  ‘Tommy! I thought you two were friends now.’

  ‘Friends?’ the boy spat. ‘After what his precious brother’s done to me sister?’

  Charlotte gasped. ‘Tommy! How – how d’you know about such things?’

  ‘I heard,’ the young boy muttered.

  ‘And what good do you think fighting with little Georgie is going to do, eh?’ She bent closer. ‘Tommy, I shouldn’t think he even understands what it’s all about.’

  ‘He does now.’ With a sudden twist, Tommy pulled himself free of her grasp and, before she could stop him, landed another vicious punch to Georgie’s tender chin. Then he turned and began to run, shouting as a parting shot, ‘You wait, Georgie Thornton. I’ll get you. You won’t allus be able to hide behind Miss Charlotte’s skirt.’

  When Charlotte looked down at him, she saw that Georgie was crying, but she had the feeling that his tears were not so much for his injuries as for the broken friendship.

  She bent down in front of him and gathered him into her arms. ‘Don’t cry, darling. Please don’t cry. It’s not your fault. Tommy is upset about something and he’s taken it out on you, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I – I don’t know what he meant, Miss Charlotte. What has Philip done to Lily? Has
he hurt her? I thought he liked her. They’re always laughing and talking. I’ve seen them.’

  Charlotte straightened up and took his hand. She picked up her basket and began to lead him back towards the market place where she’d tethered the pony and trap. ‘Come, you shall ride home with me.’

  ‘But what’s Philip done?’ the boy persisted.

  ‘It’s not for me to explain, Georgie. You must ask your father.’

  And now, she realized, as she helped the boy into the back of the pony and trap and prepared to take him home, she would have to be the one to break the news to Miles.

  She pulled up in front of the manor and helped Georgie down, leading him by the hand up the front steps. She rang the bell. Miles himself flung the door open. He stared at them for a moment as if it didn’t register who they were. But as he glanced down and saw the battered face of his son, he sighed heavily and pulled the door open wider. ‘Now what?’ he muttered, but he seemed preoccupied, almost irritated that there was yet another problem to deal with.

  As she and Georgie stepped into the hall, Charlotte’s heart missed a beat. He must know, she thought. His distracted air was shock.

  ‘Take him through to Mrs Beddows. She’ll clean him up.’

  ‘I’ll see to him,’ Charlotte said softly. ‘Come along, Georgie.’ But as she tried to lead him away, Georgie looked up and asked, ‘Papa, what has Philip done to Lily?’

  Charlotte saw Miles blink and stare at his young son. ‘What? What are you talking about, Georgie?’

  ‘Tommy said Philip had hurt Lily.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and blood smeared his sleeve. ‘He hit me, Papa.’ Fresh tears welled in his eyes. ‘He says he’s not my friend any more because Philip’s hurt Lily.’

  ‘Come along, Georgie,’ Charlotte urged, pushing him gently towards the door leading to the kitchen. ‘You can talk to your papa when we’ve got something on those cuts and bruises.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Come along,’ she said firmly and, at last, he allowed her to lead him away. But with every step, Charlotte was aware of Miles watching them with a worried frown on his face.

  Half an hour later, Charlotte prescribed a mug of hot milk and rest on the nursery couch.

  ‘But I want to talk to Papa,’ the little boy insisted, though his eyes were drooping. The long school day and then the distressing fight had taken its toll even on the stalwart Georgie.

  ‘Can Jane take him up and stay with him, Mrs Beddows? I must speak to Mr Thornton.’

  ‘She can, miss, but I don’t think the master’ll want to be bothered about a playground fight just at the moment. He’s worried out of his mind.’

  ‘So he does know?’

  The cook stared at her. ‘Know what, miss?’

  Charlotte blinked. ‘Er – I just thought – er – ’ She took a deep breath and asked, ‘What is he worried about?’

  ‘Master Philip. He’s missing. Been gone since early morning when he went out riding.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Charlotte breathed, and she turned and hurried back towards Miles’s study. She found him pacing the floor.

  ‘Mrs Beddows has just told me that Philip’s not come home since early morning. Have you got people out looking for him?’

  ‘I sent two of my men out a couple of hours ago, but there’s been no word. I’m about to ring the police.’

  ‘Give me half an hour, Miles. I’ll be back . . .’ Once more she turned and ran out of the room, out of the house, climbed into her pony and trap, and drove off at speed. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the long lane that she realized she’d addressed the man to his face by his Christian name – the name she always used in her own thoughts.

  Charlotte banged on the door of the Warrens’ cottage and then, without waiting for it to be answered, opened it and went in.

  The family was in the kitchen. Peggy was bending over Tommy, tending to his black eye. They all looked round, startled, as she entered like a whirlwind. Charlotte’s glance sought Jackson.

  ‘Where is he? What have you done to him?’

  Jackson refused to meet her gaze but she saw the glance that passed between him and John. She took a step closer. ‘Jackson – Mr Thornton is about to call the police. If you value your freedom you’ll tell me now what you’ve done. Where is Philip?’

  ‘Philip?’ Lily cried before anyone else could answer. ‘What about Philip?’ Her wild glance went to her brothers. ‘Have you hurt him? If you have, I’ll never forgive you. Never!’

  Joe and Peggy looked anxious but mystified. Joe had had no part in whatever had happened, Charlotte could see that.

  ‘Come on, you’ll have to tell me. He’s not been home since he went out early this morning. Mr Thornton has sent two men out, but he’s about to take matters further.’

  Again the brothers exchanged a mutinous glance, but it was John who said, ‘We – we brought his horse down and then—’

  ‘We gave him a bloody good hiding,’ Jackson spat out. ‘One he won’t forget in a hurry.’

  Charlotte turned from them. She’d have more to say to the pair of them later, but for now she must find Philip.

  ‘Where is he? Where did you leave him?’

  Reluctantly, Jackson muttered the answer. ‘The copse south of the town.’

  Charlotte turned to their father. ‘Joe – you’d better come back with me.’

  ‘But he ain’t well enough yet—’ Peggy began.

  ‘He’ll have to be. And as for you two – ’ she nodded towards the brothers, ‘if you’re fit enough to give a boy a hiding, you’re fit enough to be back at your work. I’ll expect you first thing in the morning. In fact, you can go and do the evening milking right now. It looks like I’m going to be too busy.’

  With that she stalked out of the house, Joe following reluctantly in her wake.

  Thirty-Three

  Back at Buckthorn Farm, they saddled two horses and rode towards the town, then veered to the left. Neither spoke, each busy with their own thoughts and trying to keep an overwhelming fear in check.

  They found him lying motionless in the long grass at the edge of the copse as if he’d been thrown there and callously abandoned.

  ‘My God!’ Joe breathed, as they both dismounted and ran towards him. ‘What have they done to him?’

  ‘He’s alive,’ Charlotte said, feeling for the boy’s pulse. She took off her coat and laid it over Philip. ‘You’ll have to fetch something to carry him home on, and a farm cart. If he’s been thrown from his horse and then set upon, there’s no knowing what injuries he’s suffered. Go to the manor, Joe, it’s nearer.’

  ‘Can’t we—?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We might cause more damage.’ Beneath her breath she added, ‘If that’s possible.’

  They both glanced across at Philip’s horse. It was writhing in agony, trying to stand and falling again.

  ‘Bring Eddie back with you and tell him to bring a gun. That poor creature’s not going to make it.’ She forbore to add the word ‘either’.

  It took a while, longer than the half-hour she’d promised Miles, but at least Philip had been found and carried home and upstairs into his own bed. His father had not called the police. At least, not yet.

  Now it was the doctor they called.

  Whilst they waited, Miles said, ‘If – if he lives, it will be thanks to you, Charlotte.’ His glance rested upon her as he added quietly, ‘But you seem to know what’s happened. Will you tell me?’

  ‘Of course. When the doctor’s been, I’ll tell you everything.’

  ‘He’ll have to go into hospital for observation. None of his limbs are broken, but he’s concussed and I’m worried about his spine. I can’t tell if there’s damage there.’

  ‘My God,’ Miles muttered, running his hand through his hair.

  Within an hour, Philip was on his way to the cottage hospital in Lynthorpe. When Miles returned from accompanying his son and seeing him admitted, Charlotte was still wai
ting anxiously.

  ‘I need a drink,’ Miles said, leading the way back to his study. ‘And I don’t mean coffee. Brandy, Charlotte?’

  ‘I don’t usually, but on this occasion,’ she muttered grimly, knowing the task that lay before her, ‘I need it too.’

  They sat down and sipped the liquor but Charlotte knew he was anxious to hear what she had to say.

  ‘I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but you have to know. I – I should have told you before, but’ – she sighed, wishing she’d not delayed even the few days – ‘Miles – Philip is the father of Lily’s child.’

  He sat forward in his chair, his hand shaking so suddenly he almost spilt what was still in the glass he held. ‘Philip!’ he said hoarsely. ‘My son – my seventeen-year-old son has – has seduced a girl who was living in my house – under my protection?’ He groaned, closed his eyes and fell back in the chair. The glass slipped from his hand and fell to the floor, spilling the brandy on to the carpet.

  Charlotte bent and picked up the glass, mopping the spillage with her handkerchief. She glanced up at him anxiously, fearing she was going to have to send for the doctor yet again. He sat slumped in the chair with his hand covering his eyes. She poured another brandy and took it to him.

  ‘Here – drink this.’

  He pulled himself up like a man rousing himself from a nightmare. He took the glass, but his hand was still shaking. Charlotte remained standing close by. At last, he took in a deep, calming breath. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

  She moved across the hearth and sat down again. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Slowly, he raised his head to look at her. ‘Sorry? What have you got to be sorry about, my dear?’ He smiled wryly. ‘I’m not one to blame the bearer of bad news.’ He sighed, groaned and swept his hand across his forehead again. ‘What a mess!’