Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1 – The Arrival
Chapter 2 – The First Lesson
Chapter 3 – Broken China
Chapter 4 – Damian
Chapter 5 – London
Chapter 6 – Alone in the Woods
Chapter 7 – The Boathouse
Chapter 8 – Yearning
Chapter 9 – Lust
Chapter 10 – Awakening
Chapter 11 – Eighteen
Chapter 12 – The Aftermath
Chapter 13 – Relapse
Chapter 14 – Secrets
Chapter 15 – Showdown
Chapter 16 – On a Knife Edge
Chapter 17 – New Horizons
Chapter 18 – Home
Chapter 19 – New Beginnings
Epilogue
Contact
Copyright
Suzanne Kadrak
H e n r y & S a r a h
A Tale of Secret Love
Text Copyright @ 2013 Suzanne Kadrak
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1 – The Arrival
England - July, 1886
Partridge Mansion could already be seen from afar.
Nestled in the beautiful countryside, it was surrounded solely by green meadows and vast farmland. The nearest village was miles away, and one could have easily succumbed to the impression that the people who lived here had to feel lonely and isolated amidst this solitude.
But this wasn’t the case. In fact, the mansion’s residents rather enjoyed the reclusiveness. Here they were able to keep everything to themselves and to create a convenient distance between them and the rest of the world.
It was an old house that showed clear signs of decay. Its slightly ramshackle facade had begun to crumble in some places, and the roof threatened to lose some tiles—the result of more than a hundred years of bravely withstanding the ghastly winds and the humidity of the relentless English climate.
Still, it was unquestionably a pretty house, and its obvious struggle with age did not affect the magnificence and pride, the splendor and subtle haughtiness it radiated. Yes, the overall impression was that of a well looked after home whose inhabitants laid great importance on preserving the place for many generations to come.
Henry Abbott peered through the bars of the wrought iron entrance gate that led into the estate. He hesitated for a moment, then he opened the gate. It was a little jammed and creaked terribly. Henry could hardly believe that well-off people like the Partridges would not care about such things. But he assumed that it was probably not in their interest at all to fix the gate, because, in reality, they didn’t want to make it too easy for visitors to get inside. The high brick wall surrounding the whole of the lavish estate only added to the unpleasant feeling of being an intruder.
Not that Henry wasn’t welcome. After all, he had been personally invited by Lord Horatio Partridge—an extremely rare honour for those who didn’t belong to the upper class. Henry knew very well that this was a real privilege and also a unique opportunity that would never come back again. Not anyone of his friends or acquaintances had ever been allowed to get this close to one of the most reputable and famous families in the region.
He followed a gravel pathway that led across the garden and straight to the portal of the house. The garden was the size of a park whose dimensions were not determinable at a glance. There were many trees; birches, larches, and cherry trees in full blossom. But there were also very old oak trees which had witnessed the day when the first foundation stone had been laid on the very ground Henry was standing now.
The pathway was lined with flowerbeds. Pansies and lavender, crysanthemum and blue bells had all been neatly arranged in exact rows like little soldiers standing at attention. Not a single plain dandelion would have dared to poke its head out between them.
At the far end of the garden, Henry spotted a stable big enough to house a dozen of horses. He had never seen such a big garden. At home they didn’t even have one, only a small backyard where scruffy looking alley cats rummaged through the dustbins in their hopeless search for leftovers.
The closer he came to the building, the more he felt intimidated by the blatant superiority it displayed. The numerous lattice windows seemed to be staring down at him, and behind one of them, half hidden by the curtains, he believed to see someone secretly watching him.
It didn’t surprise him that they were suspicious. After all, he was a stranger, and it was not unusual that gentry like the Partridges harbored a certain mistrust against people they didn’t know—especially when those people were ordinary mortals like him without any particular background. Henry guessed they were worried he would spy on them, tell everyone about their wealth, and—in the worst case—attract thieves who would empty the house on the next occasion.
But Henry wasn’t a spy. All he wanted was to get the position as a tutor.
The pathway ended at a staircase that led up to the main entrance. The door was made of massive oak and looked rather solid.
Now all that is missing is a castle moat... Henry thought and pulled at the cord of a tiny simple bell that was attached above the door. The bell chimed sweetly; a sound so soft that it stood in no relation to the pompousness of the building—something that Henry found ridiculously funny.
When he heard footsteps coming from inside, he quickly checked his suit, hair, fingernails, and breath. He had been trying hard to look his very best today, and it was not his intention to let anything impair his appearance.
Someone opened the door, slowly and carefully. It was an elderly man with a bald head and round spectacles. He was dressed in clothes typical for a butler: a suit jacket, a waistcoat, a white shirt, and a bow tie.
“We do not buy any brushes,” he said curtly.
“My name is Henry Abbott,” Henry quickly replied before the butler could shut the door in his face. “The new tutor.”
The butler’s eyes got wide as the realization struck him that Henry was not a door-to-door salesman.
“Ah, of course,” he said apologetically. “Please, do come in, Mr. Abbott.”
He appeared much friendlier now and his initial reserve subsided. With a galant gesture of his hand he beckoned Henry inside.
The next moment, Henry found himself in a big reception hall where it was dark and chilly as opposed to outside.
“Unfortunately, Lord Partridge is out in town.” the butler added as he closed the door quietly behind Henry. “He has, however, assigned the Lady of the house with the task to receive you on his behalf. I will inform her at once about your arrival. Is there anything I can do for you before I go, Sir? A cup of tea? A biscuit?”
Henry smiled shyly and shook his head.
“No, thank you. I am fine,” he answered.
“As you wish, Mr. Abbott,” the butler said. “Lady Partridge will be with you in an instant.”
The butler took a little bow and walked up the stairs to the upper floor.
Henry took off his hat and nervously clutched it with both hands. Uncertainly, he looked round the place. The floor was entirely tiled with the best marble, as were the stairs. Some precious paintings lined the walls, and there was a little decorative table standing in the corner. Someone had placed a vase with fresh flowers on it; black elder and lilies whose sweet fragrance filled the air and created a touch of homeliness in the otherwise cool reception hall. On silent feet, Henry strode over to the table and slowly let his fingers run over its smooth and polished mahogany surface. He thought that he most definitely would have something to tell the gossip hungry people out there. But he wasn’t the type of person to engage in these kinds of conversations.
Carefully, he pulled at one of the drawers of the table when
he suddenly heard footsteps and voices coming from above. Not wanting to be caught in the act of sniffing around, he quickly let go of the drawer and hurried back to the spot where he had been standing before the butler had left him alone.
“This is absolutely unacceptable!” Henry heard a woman say, her sharp voice echoing in the hall.
“Indeed, Lady Partridge. Absolutely unacceptable” he then heard the butler answer.
For a moment, Henry worried that they were talking about him.
“It is beyond my understanding why after all those years Emily still has not learnt how to use a cleaning cloth...,” the woman added angrily, and Henry noticed to his relief that she obviously meant somebody else and that he was not the reason of her wrath.
“It is a disgrace, Lady Partridge,” Henry heard the butler mutter.
Then, suddenly, the woman appeared at the top of the staircase. It was Lady Partridge.
She was tall; almost taller than the butler. Only once in his entire life had Henry seen a woman that tall: his aunt Mable whom he and his brother used to secretly call ‘flagpole’. He remembered that Aunt Mable had found a morbid delight in pinching him in his check until it hurt, whenever she came to visit his family. But other than that she had been a gentle and caring woman with a heart of gold, and at her deathbed Henry had felt terrible regret for having called her a flagpole.
Unfortunately, apart from the size, Lady Partridge and his Aunt Mable had nothing in common. Henry could barely envisage the lady sacrificing her very last penny to buy her children or nephews candy and then take them to the zoo to watch the chimpanzees like his aunt used to. No, Lady Partridge was as cool as the marble she was treading on, and there was a highly formidable air about her which demanded obedience and respect. She was wearing a beige blouse with playful frills both at the collar and the sleeves, which somehow contradicted the joylessness and graveness she radiated.
Her grim look let her appear much older than she actually was. Henry knew that she had turned forty-five the year before, because he recalled having read in the newspaper that the Partridges had held a big birthday banquet in her honor in a very reputable hotel in London. But back then the news had not really interested him. The Partridges and their life had represented a world completely out of his reach. How should he have known that one day he would be standing in their reception hall, peering inside their drawers.
“And there as well!” Lady Partridge called out, pointing to the ground at some indefinable stains on the marble steps. Her voice sounded almost hysterical. “Roderick, we must by all means tell Emily to give the stairs another wipe. Does this girl not have eyes in her head?!”
“Certainly, Lady Partridge. I will tell her again, Lady Partridge.” Roderick, the butler, replied reassuringly, trying his best to calm the lady down.
Lady Partridge was holding on to the banister with one hand, and with the other she was clutching her skirt, careful not to trip over her long dress. Then she ever so gracefully walked down the stairs.
She didn’t take any notice of Henry, and somehow he couldn't shake off the feeling that she was ignoring him deliberately, just to let him wait.
When she finally arrived downstairs, she walked over to him wordlessly, without greeting him, and without asking him if he had had a safe journey—the least he had expected after having come all the way from London. Instead, she just pierced him with her dark, cold eyes and cast him a thin and sourly smile which seemed rather forced.
Her frightless stare unsettled Henry. For a moment, he just looked at her perplexed, then he quickly gathered himself again, remembering what he was here for. He didn’t want to make a bad first impression, and so he tried to remain friendly despite the unwelcoming atmosphere. After all, he really wanted the position, and he was hoping that his desperation wasn’t too obvious.
He made a respectful bow and began to speak:
“Honorable Lady Partridge, my name is—”
“I know who you are,” Lady Partridge cut him off.
“You are Henry Abbott,” she went on, sounding slightly bored. “and you have the courage bordering on lunacy to apply for the position as a tutor to our daughter Sarah, who is regionally known for her her awful moods and frantic outbursts of rage—not to mention her habit of climbing on trees and generally acting like a boy. Only God knows why... ”
The sarcasm in her voice hadnʼt failed to catch Henry’s attention. Of course he knew them, the stories that were circulating about the Partridges and their infamous daughter. It was an open secret that they were having major issues with the girl, although they were trying hard to hide it from the public. But since they were looking for a new tutor for her by placing advertisements in the papers, word had spread like wildfire.
“I would like to talk to you openly, Mr. Abbott.” Lady Partridge said, while circling him slowly and eyeing him up and down as if he was cattle on the market. “As you are surely aware of, we are very well known in the area. We have a reputation to lose, not least due to the fact that my husband is the owner of Partridge Ploughs. The task awaiting you is of utter importance. And just for your information: My husband and I did not choose you because you stood out from other applicants. The only reason that you are here is that, unfortunately, nobody else but you has shown any serious interest in the position. Therefore, we came to the decision that we might as well take the risk and give you the opportunity to prove yourself. So, apart from teaching our daughter the basics, the only thing we care about is that the girl finally comes to her senses. She is in desperate need of some social graces.”
“I will do my utmost to meet your expectations,” Henry replied firmly.
“Thatʼs what all the others before you said as well...” Lady Partridge scoffed. “I can hardly recall how many times I have walked down these stairs in order to receive some hopeless optimist as you are, overconfident men and women who applied for the position as a tutor or governess to Sarah and who all left in the end, either out of their own will or because my husband fired them due to their incompetency—with the result, that I had to look after the girl myself. As if I was not busy enough doing other things... It is like a curse...”
“Well, I am sincerely sorry to hear this...” Henry said and couldn’t help but wonder what other important tasks Lady Partridge could possibly be busy with. From what he knew a day in the life of an honorable lady was filled with nothing but pleasurable idleness and leisurely things such as reading, doing some embroidery, writing invitations, or giving the staff a telling off.
Lady Partridge let out a strange mocking laugh.
“Don’t be foolish,” she said. “You could not care less about us and our problems just like everybody else out there who has not the faintest notion of what it really means to be a Partridge. We are well aware that the mob is talking about us behind our backs, don’t you worry. But it is alright, we have long got used to it.”
Henry didn’t like the way Lady Partridge overaccentuated the word ‘mob’. There was something highly disparaging about it. But as for the talking, he had to admit that she was right and there was nothing he could say to disperse her assumption. There were indeed very vile people out there who were green with envy and would have rather seen the Partridges fail or even dead.
“You seem like a decent young man, though. How old are you?” Lady Partridge suddenly asked and cast Henry an unexpected secretive smile.
Henry didn’t quite know if he should feel flattered or scared by Lady Partridge’s words and her blunt question. On the one hand, he was relieved to see that she had given him the reassurance that she approved of him on a professional level, but on the other hand he had just discovered a strange new tone in her voice which seemed to reveal a personal interest in him. As if she found him attractive.
“Twenty-five, Lady Partridge,” Henry answered dutifully.
“Not married?” Lady Partridge continued her interrogation.
“No, Lady Partridge.”
Lady Partridge raised an
eyebrow, leaving room for all sorts of interpretations of this gesture.
Henry felt slightly uneasy. Not that it would have bothered him that a woman who was much older than he was made overtures to him. It had happened to him before and he had not been reluctant, to say the least. He knew that he had the looks and the charms which women generally fell for. Women loved him. And he loved women. Still, there was something about Lady Partridge in particular that made him shy away from her approaches. The reason was that he didn’t like her at all. From the very first moment when he had seen her towering at the top of the staircase he had felt an aversion toward her. And this antipathy threatened to grow with every second she continued staring into his eyes as if she wanted to deprive him of his soul.
Henry & Sarah Page 1
