A Mother's Secret (27 page)

‘You’ll lose more than that if you continue to work here,’ Bailey said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s as well we turned up when we did. I think Lady Davenport should be put straight, Captain. I’ll leave that to you, sir.’

‘Point taken, but you can drop the formal address, Moon. We’re on leave and we don’t want to make the ladies feel uncomfortable.’

Cassy found herself wheeled around and propelled homewards with her feet barely touching the ground. ‘Don’t I get a say in all this?’

‘No,’ they replied in unison.

‘Well, at least stop and get something in for supper,’ she urged. ‘Mrs Wilkins has made boiled mutton and caper sauce, but there won’t be enough to go round.’

‘Take us to the nearest eel pie shop or a fish and chip shop,’ Bailey said, licking his lips. ‘I haven’t had a decent meal since I left England.’

‘I’ve never had eel pie,’ Oliver said thoughtfully. ‘But a nice steak and kidney pudding with oysters would be just the thing.’

Cassy sighed. She was hungry too, but she would undoubtedly have lost her job and when their leave was ended, Bailey and Oliver would return to India, leaving the family to face a long hard winter. ‘All right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I know a good place, but you’ll have to pay.’

Oliver tweaked her cheek. ‘Of course, sweetheart. And don’t worry about anything. We’ll take care of you from now on. Your troubles are over.’

They arrived back at the house laden with parcels of food wrapped in yesterday’s newspapers, but just as Cassy was about to knock on the door a dog cart drew to a halt at the kerbside. Oliver and Bailey stood back as Farmer Mullins clambered down from the driver’s seat and assisted Flora to alight. Wrapped in the fur-lined cloak she stood on the pavement staring at Oliver in disbelief.

‘Goodness gracious, boy. Where did you spring from?’

‘I’ll be taking me leave now, ma’am,’ Farmer Mullins said, tipping his cap. ‘Ta for the lesson. I’ll see you again the day after tomorrow, if that’s still convenient.’

Flora waved him away with a waft of her hand. ‘Yes, of course, Mullins.’

‘And I’m doing passable well, ain’t I, ma’am?’

Farmer Mullins seemed reluctant to leave and Cassy felt a twinge of guilt for the cavalier way in which Flora was treating him. ‘Perhaps Mr Mullins would like to come in and share our supper,’ she suggested.

He opened his mouth to reply but a look from Flora made him snap his jaws together like a steel trap.

‘Mullins has to drive back to Essex,’ Flora said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘He has a farm to run and livestock to feed.’

‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I employ men to do most of the hard labour.’

‘Yes, Mullins, I’m sure you do. Now go home, there’s a good fellow. I expect your wife is waiting for you with a hot meal on the table.’

‘I’m a widower, as I’ve told you several times, Mrs Brown.’

‘Fulford-Browne,’ Flora corrected. ‘Goodnight, Mullins.’ She held out her hand. ‘That will be half a crown, please.’

He fumbled in the pockets of his corduroy breeches, producing a coin which he placed in her palm. ‘It’s a long drive back to East Ham, Mrs Fulford-Browne, ma’am.’ He looked longingly at the open doorway and the interior of the hall illuminated by the light from a lamp held in Belinda’s hand. ‘It’s cold and wet and a cup of something hot wouldn’t go amiss, ma’am.’

‘For goodness’ sake come indoors, man,’ Oliver said genially. ‘We’ve food enough for all and one more at table won’t make the slightest difference. Beside which, I’d be interested in your views on farming. I’ve toyed with the idea of working the land myself when my army career comes to an end.’

‘Oliver, don’t talk nonsense.’ Flora glared at him, but he ignored her warning glance and strode into the house, brushing Belinda’s cheek with a kiss as he walked past her.

‘Come inside, sir,’ Cassy said, beckoning to Mullins. ‘Will your horse be all right left to himself?’

‘He’ll not move unless I say so.’ Mullins took off his cap as he mounted the steps. ‘After you, miss.’

Bailey came in last, closing the door behind him. He caught up with Cassy, taking her by the arm. ‘What’s all this about, Cass? What’s been going on since I went away?’

‘Not now,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

If Belinda was surprised to see Farmer Mullins shamble into the dining room she was too well-mannered to say so. She set another place while Bailey served the food from a side table. Oliver produced two bottles of wine that he had purchased on the way home, and he pulled the corks with a practised hand. Flora took her seat at the head of the table and proceeded to quiz him about his military exploits. To Cassy’s surprise, the normally ebullient Oliver was reticent when speaking about the war against the Afghans. It seemed to her that it was something he wished to leave behind him, and she could tell by Bailey’s shuttered expression that he felt the same. With her usual tact and diplomacy, Belinda managed to steer the conversation round to farming, which drew an immediate response from Oliver, who bombarded the unfortunate Mullins with questions until the poor man began to look slightly dazed.

Cassy tried in vain to think of another topic of conversation but matters were made worse when she met Bailey’s amused glance and she saw his lips twitch. She had an almost overwhelming desire to giggle but was saved by Freddie bursting into the room demanding to know if anyone wanted treacle pudding and custard.

‘Well now, who’s this?’ Bailey said, staring at Freddie. ‘Is this your housekeeper’s boy, Cassy?’

The laughter that she had been trying hard to suppress bubbled to the surface in a throaty chuckle. ‘Heavens no. Don’t you recognise him, Bailey? Can’t you see the scar on his nose where he took that tumble when he first started to toddle?’

Bailey beckoned to Freddie, who was standing staring at him with his thumb plugged in his mouth. Sucking his thumb was a habit that Mrs Wilkins was trying to break with the use of bitter aloes, but Cassy was only too well aware that Freddie had always had a will of his own. She held her breath, watching Bailey’s expression change from frankly baffled to one of wonderment. ‘Freddie, is it you?’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Bailey. Do you remember me?’

Freddie’s face split into a grin and he took his thumb out of his mouth. ‘Bailey.’ He scrambled onto Bailey’s lap and began examining the brass buttons on his tunic as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

‘Well,’ Cassy exclaimed. ‘He remembers you, but he’d forgotten all about me.’

‘It’s my personal charm,’ Bailey said, smiling. ‘We were good friends, weren’t we, Freddie?’

‘You’re a soldier.’

Freddie was obviously impressed and in no hurry to take a message back to the kitchen. Cassy rose to her feet. ‘Anyone for pudding?’

By the end of the meal, Farmer Mullins had become quite expansive, aided no doubt by several glasses of claret, and Freddie clung steadfastly to Bailey, refusing to go to bed unless his new idol took him downstairs and tucked him in. At this point, Belinda rose from her seat, suggesting that if the gentlemen wanted to smoke they were most welcome to do so, but the ladies would retire to the parlour.

Cassy could not help thinking that it was a bit silly to carry on as though they were still living in a grand house, but she began clearing the table, motioning Bailey to remain seated when he started to rise.

‘Quite right, Moon. At ease,’ Oliver said, tossing him a cigar. ‘We’re all one family until we return to duty.’

Belinda left the room, but Flora remained seated, watching eagerly as Oliver offered his silver cigar case to Mullins. He selected one with an appreciative smile. ‘I dunno when I last had a fine Havana, Captain.’

‘Only the best for me, Mullins old boy. Now tell me more about your acreage.’ Oliver struck a vesta and warmed his cigar before lighting it.

‘Where are you manners, boy?’ Flora demanded. ‘I haven’t smoked a cigar since we left Duke Street. I’m sure you can spare one for your aged aunt.’

‘Of course, Auntie. Apologies,’ Oliver said, passing the case to her. ‘Help yourself. I admire a woman who can appreciate good tobacco. Don’t you, Mullins?’

‘Your aunt’s a remarkable woman, if you don’t mind me saying so, Captain.’

‘There’s no need to toady, Mullins,’ Flora said tartly. ‘The fact that you were invited to join us for dinner doesn’t mean that you can take liberties.’ She allowed him to light her cigar, and she puffed out a cloud of smoke with a satisfied smile.

Cassy paused as she was about to pick up a pile of plates. She could see that Farmer Mullins was discomforted by Flora’s sharp words. ‘I hope you enjoyed your supper, Mr Mullins.’

‘I did indeed, Miss Cassy.’ He shot her a grateful glance beneath bushy black eyebrows. ‘I was going to suggest that I repaid the kindness by inviting you all to my farm, but that might be considered presumptuous by someone sitting at this table.’ A smile transformed his craggy, weather-beaten features and his brown eyes glowed with warmth. They were rather fine eyes, Cassy thought, observing him properly for the first time. She realised with a degree of surprise that he might once, when he was much younger, have been quite a fine-looking man.

‘What rot, Mullins,’ Oliver said scornfully. ‘I say it’s a capital idea. I for one will be pleased to accept your offer. When shall we come?’

‘Don’t include me in your plans,’ Flora said icily. ‘I can’t abide mud and large animals.’

‘I told you that I detest the countryside,’ Flora grumbled as Oliver helped her down from the old-fashioned and slightly decrepit barouche that Farmer Mullins had provided in order to transport them to his farm just outside the straggling village of East Ham.

‘You’ll have a splendid time keeping Mullins in his place,’ Oliver said, winking at Cassy who had clambered down and was holding her skirts above her ankles to prevent them from trailing in the mud.

‘Just because you’re an officer in the Queen’s army doesn’t give you the right to cheek your elders and betters,’ Flora said, slapping his hand away. ‘I’m not decrepit. I can manage on my own, boy.’

‘Of course, Auntie.’ Oliver proffered his hand to Belinda. ‘Stepmother, may I assist you or would you rather leap from a great height into the mud and muck.’

Belinda smiled, laying her hand on his arm. ‘Don’t torment your aunt. She’ll sulk for the rest of the day and take it out on poor Farmer Mullins.’

Bailey climbed down from the box where he had travelled beside the driver, a silent individual who drove with a pipe clenched between his teeth and a battered bowler hat set squarely on his head.

‘What a pity young Freddie couldn’t come with us,’ Bailey said, looking around at the wide expanse of the farmyard where chickens wandered freely, pecking the ground, and a colourful rooster strode amongst them protecting his feathered harem. On the other side of the fence was a large pond with a reed bed which provided nesting places for ducks and geese, and as far as the eye could see there was green pasture where cows grazed peacefully. To Cassy, who had never ventured into the countryside, this was an idyllic scene of rural tranquillity. They might have been a hundred miles from the stews of East London instead of a mere eight.

‘Fresh air,’ Oliver cried triumphantly. ‘Just take a breath of that, Aunt Flora. It’s like inhaling champagne.’

Flora screwed up her face. ‘I can smell nothing but mud and animal droppings. It’s freezing out here. Let’s hope the farmhouse is warmer, although looking at that ramshackle building I have my doubts. Where’s Mullins? I call it very bad manners for the host to be absent when his guests arrive.’

As if acting on cue, Farmer Mullins emerged from the door and came striding across the yard to greet them. Cassy thought he looked like a different man, filled with confidence and comfortable in his own setting. ‘Welcome to my home, ladies and gentlemen. Won’t you come inside and partake of a glass of buttered rum punch? It’s a raw day and no mistake.’ He proffered his arm to Flora.

‘I don’t know why I came,’ Flora muttered as she laid her hand on his sleeve.

‘Come inside, ma’am. I have a fire burning in the parlour and my housekeeper, Dora Cope, has aired the room specially. She took the Holland covers off yesterday and beat the carpets on the washing line. You’d think the Queen herself was coming to dine.’

Oliver pulled a face but any remark he might have made was quelled by a look from Belinda. ‘I’ll hold on to your arm, if I may, Ollie,’ she said sweetly.

He clasped her hand as it lay small and white against the dark green of his uniform. ‘This should prove very entertaining, Belle.’

‘Behave yourself, Ollie.’ A dimple in her cheek and the twinkle in her eyes belied the frown she gave him.

Bailey took Cassy by the hand. ‘You’re shivering, Cass. Let’s get you inside out of the cold.’

They followed the others across the farmyard and into the house, which was a long, low half-timbered building, but the inside was surprisingly spacious. The large entrance hall had a flagstone floor and an oak staircase leading up to a galleried landing. The wainscoted walls were bare of any form of embellishment and the only furniture was a hallstand and a carved wooden chest. Farmer Mullins led the way into the parlour where a log fire burned in an inglenook fireplace. Rag rugs made splashes of colour on the flagstones and the smell of beeswax and lavender mingled with the scent of burning apple wood. The low-beamed ceiling and the small windows with leaded lights made the room seem dark even though it was barely midday, but oil lamps had been lit and placed on a polished oak table, surrounded by ladder-back chairs with rush seats.