Fairfield Hall (3 page)

Their romance – if it could be called that – progressed swiftly, much to Sarah’s parents’ dismay. It was more a meeting of like minds, of shared ambition, than a
passionate love affair.

‘I don’t like it,’ Edward Armstrong said to his wife, Martha. ‘And I don’t like
him
. But what can I do? I’ve talked to her, pleaded with her, even
raged at her, but she’s set on marrying the fellow. She’s twenty-one next month and I suppose if they’re really in love . . .’

Martha had put her arms around her husband and laid her dark head against his chest. ‘Is it because of the farm, my dear?’

‘Only partly. I wanted to pass it down the generations.’

As she heard the heavy sigh deep in his chest, Martha had raised her head and said, with a twinkle in her violet eyes: ‘Never mind, perhaps Sarah will give you a grandson who will one day
take over Meadow View Farm.’

But Sarah had only given them a granddaughter, Annabel, and it was on her that Edward now pinned all his hopes. He had never agreed with the belief that genteel young ladies should spend their
time drawing, painting, sewing and playing the piano. Instead, he had instructed his daughter, Sarah, in the basic rudiments of accountancy and had introduced her to the precarious delights of
buying and selling shares. At the time, he could not have foreseen that her quick mind and intuitive head for business, together with all that he had taught her, would equip Sarah not for running
the farm as he had hoped but for helping her husband run his growing business.

Grudgingly, Edward was forced to admit that Ambrose was a clever and successful man. In 1883, Ambrose had been the first owner of a steam trawler and by the time Annabel reached adulthood, he
was the biggest steam trawler owner in the Grimsby docks. Seeing that Sarah was well provided for by her prosperous husband, Edward made his will in favour of his granddaughter, leaving his five
hundred-acre farm in the Lincolnshire wolds to her. One day it would all belong to Annabel, but for the moment, Edward and his wife remained in good health and continued to run Meadow View Farm
themselves. And on her frequent visits, Edward delighted in the young girl’s intelligence and her capacity for learning quickly. He was heartened that she seemed to possess nothing of the
ruthless ambition of her father and – it had to be said – of her mother. She soon knew all the farmhands by their first names and, as a youngster, played with their children. But it was
when riding on horseback around the fields with her grandfather that Annabel’s face shone and she chattered with a multitude of questions. In turn, Edward was thrilled by the girl’s
enthusiasm and growing love for the land. His farm would be in safe hands and he began to teach Annabel, too, the rudiments of bookkeeping and the ups and downs of the stock market. He introduced
her to the stockbroker he used in Thorpe St Michael, Henry Parker, and together the two men guided and schooled the young girl until she was old enough to deal for herself.

What Edward didn’t know – and for a long time neither did Ambrose – was that it was on these journeys to visit her grandparents that Annabel and Gilbert Radcliffe began to
meet. Only Jane knew and now the burden of knowledge was too great for the young maid to endure. But she need not have worried that she would be questioned or even blamed; word had already reached
Ambrose from his office manager, who had heard the gossip and noticed that his young protégé’s absences from work coincided with Miss Annabel’s visits to her
grandparents.

Ambrose had acted swiftly.

‘Father, I’d like to pay a visit to the docks. It’s quite some time since my last visit,’ Annabel said at breakfast the following morning.

Ambrose was a familiar sight on the dockside in his dark suit and bowler hat inspecting the most recent catches laid out neatly in containers. Annabel loved The Pontoon, the covered fish market
where the early morning catches were auctioned. Whenever Ambrose could be persuaded to take her with him, she stood quietly watching and marvelling at the speed of the auctioneer conducting sale
after sale. He seemed to know what each of his customers would want. But, much to Annabel’s disappointment as she grew older, Ambrose forbade her to go so often. He didn’t like to see
the fishermen eying his lovely daughter. The docks, he decreed, were no place for a lady.

‘But I’m not a lady,’ Annabel had argued futilely.

‘Ah, but one day you will be,’ had been her father’s only reply.

‘Of course, my dear,’ Ambrose agreed smoothly now. ‘What would you like to see? The ships? The fish docks? Of course, the herring girls aren’t here for some months yet. I
know you like to watch them, but—’

‘Your offices, Father. I’d like to visit your offices.’

‘Then you may come with me this morning.’

‘That won’t be necessary. I can make my own way there.’

‘No need,’ he replied, deliberately keeping his tone mild. ‘I should like you to drive with me.’

Annabel had no choice but to bow her head in acquiescence.

Ambrose wanted to shout at her, to roar his disapproval of her actions, but he knew it was not the way to deal with his strong-willed daughter. The path he had chosen was far better and was
already bearing fruit, if his suspicions regarding the previous evening’s escapade were correct. Instead of causing a confrontation, he smiled across the table at her. ‘It pleases me
that you should take an interest in the business. I thought you were all set to become a farmer.’ They all knew the terms of Edward’s will. Ambrose’s tone sobered as he said
warningly, ‘One day you will be a very wealthy woman. Not only will you inherit your grandfather’s farm, but also my company. You do understand that, don’t you?’

Annabel smiled. ‘But not for many years yet, I hope, Father.’

‘I hope not, but your grandparents are both in their sixties. Just remember that. And now’ – he rose from the table – ‘I have a little paperwork to do, but
I’ll be ready to leave in about an hour.’

Ambrose closed the door of his study and went to stand before the window looking out on to the garden behind the house. He was pensive for a few moments before sitting down at his desk, picking
up his pen and beginning to write a letter.

Dear Lord Fairfield . . .

When they arrived at her father’s offices, not far from where the dock tower stood guardian over the forest of masts and funnels as the trawlers jostled for position to
unload their catches, Annabel hurried to the manager’s office. She knew that Gilbert occupied a desk in the same room. Ambrose followed his daughter at a more leisurely pace, deliberately
allowing her to go ahead of him. A small smile played on his lips. In the outer office sat a middle-aged man at a desk and in the corner a young woman tapped at a typewriter.

‘Good morning,’ Annabel greeted them both and then turned to the older man. ‘Is G—Mr Radcliffe in?’

The man blinked, but before he could answer the door to the inner office was flung open and Mr Smeeton, the manager, appeared.

‘Ah, Miss Constantine, please come in. Is your father with you?’

‘Yes, he’s coming.’

She moved quickly into his office and glanced around. There was no sign of Gilbert. Neither was there any sign of his desk on the far side of the room where it had once stood.

‘Please sit down,’ Mr Smeeton said kindly. ‘Would you like some tea?’

‘No, no, thank you. Mr Smeeton—?’ she began urgently, but her question was interrupted by the sound of voices in the outer office. The door opened again and her father entered
the room. Annabel cast a beseeching glance at Mr Smeeton, but said no more.

‘Good morning, Smeeton.’

‘Sir.’ Mr Smeeton gave a tiny deferential bow towards his employer and moved a chair for him to sit down.

Ambrose looked about him and asked casually, ‘No Radcliffe this morning?’

‘No, sir. He – um – he’s left.’

A startled gasp escaped Annabel, but with amazing self-control she bit back her question. Instead, it was Ambrose who raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Really? That was rather sudden,
wasn’t it?’

‘Very sudden, sir. He didn’t even stay to work out his notice.’

‘How come?’ Ambrose asked quite calmly, laying his hat and cane on Mr Smeeton’s desk and pulling off his gloves whilst Annabel watched and listened with growing alarm. She
gripped the arms of the chair and bit down hard on her lower lip.

‘It seems,’ Mr Smeeton went on, ‘that he came into a sum of money very unexpectedly and he’s – um – used it to emigrate to America, I believe.’

‘Emigrate?’ Annabel gasped, no longer able to keep silent. Nor could she stop the colour rising in her face. Gilbert gone? Without a word to her? ‘For how long?’

Mr Smeeton avoided meeting her gaze. ‘I presume for good, Miss Constantine.’

‘But what about—?’ she began, but managed to stop the words just in time. Instead, she finished rather lamely, ‘his family?’

‘I don’t think he has much in the way of family. His parents are dead. He has one brother, I believe . . .’

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father frown and Mr Smeeton added hastily, ‘But I don’t even know where he lives. I understand they never saw much of each other.’

Annabel dared not say more, dared not ask any more questions – not in front of her father. But somehow, some time, she would interrogate Mr Smeeton further.

‘Now, my dear,’ Ambrose said smoothly, ‘you said you wanted to look around the docks.’

‘Of course, Father,’ she said meekly and rose, though she found her legs were trembling. She felt faint with shock. Gilbert had gone, had left her without a word.

‘Are you all right Miss Constantine?’ Mr Smeeton asked gently, with genuine concern. He had noticed how the girl had flushed on hearing the news about Gilbert Radcliffe, but now she
had turned very pale.

Annabel lifted her chin. ‘I am perfectly well, thank you, Mr Smeeton. Now, Father, where shall we begin?’

Annabel endured a cold walk around the docks, trying to show an interest as her father pointed out the ships he owned, pausing now and again to speak to a skipper, asking if
the morning’s catch had been good. Then they walked to the market. Most of the day’s trading was coming to an end already, but Ambrose rubbed his hands gleefully when he heard that the
fish landed that morning had fetched a good price.

‘A good morning’s work,’ her father murmured and Annabel could not know that the satisfaction behind his words had far more significance than the good catch and the price it
had fetched. ‘And now we’ll go home for lunch, my dear.’

Ambrose led the way towards the brougham, driven by Billy, without giving her any further chance to speak to the office manager or even to the two people in the outer office; perhaps they knew
something.

How was she to find out?

Back at home, she went towards the staircase, with the excuse of changing from her outdoor clothes, but as soon as her father’s study door had closed behind him, she picked up her skirts
and went swiftly towards the door leading to the kitchens.

‘Where’s Jane?’ she demanded of Mrs Rowley.

‘Oh, Miss Annabel, you made me jump. Jane, you say? She’s upstairs cleaning the mistress’s bedroom.’

Annabel whirled round and ran upstairs, bursting into her mother’s bedroom unannounced. ‘Jane—’ she began but then realized that the maid, who was making the bed, was not
alone in the room.

Sarah Constantine turned in her seat at the dressing table. ‘Whatever’s the matter, Annabel? Is the place on fire?’

‘I’m sorry, Mother.’

‘A little more decorum wouldn’t come amiss for a young lady in your position.’

‘My – position?’ Annabel frowned. ‘What do you mean, Mother?’

Mrs Constantine turned away but held her daughter’s gaze through the mirror. ‘Your father is determined to launch you into society. His earnest desire is to have you presented at
court.’

Annabel gasped and sank down into a chair. ‘Presented! To the Queen? But don’t you have to know someone who’s previously been presented for them to act as a – a, well,
whatever they call it?’

‘A sponsor. So I believe, but your father is working on that,’ Sarah said calmly and now, avoiding eye contact with her daughter, she omitted to say exactly what else her husband was
scheming. ‘What was it you wanted Jane for?’

‘I – er – um – just wondered if she’d be free this afternoon to go out.’

‘Of course,’ Sarah said blandly. ‘As long as you’re not late for dinner again.’

‘No, I won’t be. I promise.’

‘By the way, your grandmother has written to ask if you’d like to spend Easter with them. Shall I reply that you would?’

Normally, such an invitation would have delighted Annabel, but now her mind was filled with where Gilbert was and what could have happened to him. ‘Yes – yes, of course I’d
love to go,’ she said half-heartedly. As she turned away to leave the room, she didn’t see her mother’s grim expression through the mirror as she watched her go.

But Jane saw it.

‘We’re going to be in such trouble, Miss Annabel,’ Jane said, as she climbed into the chaise beside her mistress whilst Billy held the horse’s head.
‘You should have seen the look on your mother’s face this morning after you left the room. Something’s up. I reckon they know.’

‘How can they possibly know? We’ve been so careful.’

‘Your family’s very well known in these parts and it’s likely that maybe someone’s seen us. Besides, there’s all them men at the docks that work for him. You know
how gossip gets around.’

‘I can guess,’ Annabel murmured, as she took up the reins and Billy let go of the horse. ‘All I want to find out is where he’s gone and – more importantly –
why.’

Jane held on to the side of the vehicle as the horse gathered speed, trotting down the short drive, out of the gate and along the road. ‘Where are we going, Miss Annabel?’

‘Back to the fish dock. I need to see Mr Smeeton.’

‘I don’t think you should do that. He’ll tell your father.’

‘There’s always that chance,’ Annabel had to admit.

‘And if you ask him not to,’ Jane said sensibly, ‘then he’ll smell a rat and be all the more suspicious. And then – he
will
tell him.’ And she’d
probably be sacked, Jane thought, when they found out she’d been going along with all this, but she didn’t voice her fears aloud.