Hope (48 page)

Again and again William had tried to take him to task, but it always ended the same way. Albert would threaten to expose them.

‘Damn it,’ William exclaimed, jumping up as a definite smell of urine wafted out from either the fire or the coal box. ‘Enough is enough!’

‘What, dearest?’ Anne asked.

‘Albert! He’s got to go. Tomorrow, first thing, I’ll insist he leaves. I’ll give him till the end of the week and if he isn’t gone by then I’ll get a couple of men to empty his belongings from the gatehouse and change the locks on the doors.’

‘But what if he attacks you?’ Anne said nervously.

William went over to the window and looked out. ‘I almost hope he does,’ he said. ‘Then I can get the police and have him arrested.’

Anne had heard William talk like this before but each time he’d backed down later, often having to give Albert more money to appease him. But she was pleased to hear that this time William really did sound determined and she guessed it was because of Rufus.

He was in his second year at Oxford University now, but he’d declined to come home at Christmas. Albert had sneeringly claimed it was because he’d grown too grand for the shabby house, and the lack of parties and dances, but both Anne and William knew that wasn’t the case. Rufus had grown into a tall, strong and handsome young man, but he had no airs and graces. He still liked to go to Matt’s farm when he was home; last summer he was there every day helping with the harvest.

They both knew he hadn’t come home this Christmas because of Albert. The convictions he’d had as a young lad about the man had remained, and he’d become increasingly outraged as he saw Albert strutting around as if he were the master, and his parents kowtowing to him. Staying away was his way of showing his disapproval, and the message was simple: Albert should be dismissed or Rufus would not be home for any future holidays with his parents.

It had been the most cheerless Christmas they had ever known, and Anne knew that it had made William feel even more aggrieved with Albert.

‘Are you prepared for the gossip if he does make good his threats?’ Anne asked. She felt she was prepared now, but she didn’t want William suddenly caving in at the first whiff of scandal.

‘I am, never more so. Come on, old girl, don’t fail me now! We’ve got to do this or stay under his yoke for the rest of our lives.’

William knew by Anne’s expression over breakfast that she thought he was going to excuse himself from dealing with Albert today as he’d promised.

She wasn’t entirely wrong about that; he had lain awake half the night thinking up excuses. But it struck him that his whole life had been a series of excuses. He’d made a good marriage but failed Anne because of his sexual deficiencies. He’d been born to a fortune and he’d gambled and frittered it away. He had only one thing he could be proud of and that was Rufus, for despite both his parents’ weaknesses he’d grown into a fine young man, intelligent, strong, loving and hardworking.

His grandfather had built Briargate intending it to be passed down to William and then to his grandson, but thanks to William’s stupidity it was now more of a liability than an asset. Yet he knew that Rufus would sooner inherit a worthless, crumbling estate surrounded by a wilderness, than have a father who was too cowardly to stand up to blackmail.

Fortunately Rufus’s security was not under threat, owing to the legacy from his maternal grandfather, but even if it had been, Rufus had the intelligence, enthusiasm and knowledge to change Briargate into a profitable farm. He’d often said he found it immoral to have so many decadent flowerbeds when that land could be turned over to chickens, pigs or vegetables.

So even though William was shaking in his shoes at the prospect of what might happen as a result of dismissing Albert, he knew he had to do the right thing, for Rufus.

‘Where are you going?’ Anne asked as he got up from the breakfast table. They had barely spoken as they ate. He had looked at his newspaper; she had been reading a letter from her sister. They were usually silent at breakfast, but it was a comfortable silence; today it had been tense with unsettled business.

‘To put on my garden shoes,’ he said. ‘You stay in here and watch in case I need you.’

‘You’re going to talk to Albert?’ she asked. She sounded very surprised.

‘I won’t be doing much talking,’ he said with a weak, boyish grin. ‘I shall be giving him his marching orders.’

‘Don’t you want me to come too?’

William had thought long and hard whether it would be better or worse with Anne beside him. But he’d come to the conclusion he must do it alone. He couldn’t subject Anne to Albert’s foul language; he was sure to fire a volley of his favourite expletives.

William let himself out through the back door by the boot room, pulling on his coat as he went. It was very cold, and as he looked down the garden to see where Albert was, he noticed there was fog in the valley down by the river.

The sound of the saw told him Albert was in the woodshed at the back of the stables. It was the one place he really didn’t want to be alone with the man. It was there that he had kissed Albert the first time and said that he loved him.

William couldn’t bear to think what a prize fool he’d been. He’d given the man his heart and his money, and risked everything for him. But his biggest mistake was to romanticize him.

William had thought of him as a beautiful, gentle and creative archangel in a working man’s smock, who out of gratitude transformed the garden into the kind of Eden he felt William deserved. He even believed that Albert was an innocent; that he succumbed to William because he was the only person who had ever shown him any affection, or valued him.

Much later, when William began to realize the giving was all one-sided, he made excuses for his lover: he’d had a vicious mother; he’d been influenced by brutish men from an early age. Yet William still believed that if he showed him enough love, understanding and kindness, Albert would reciprocate.

Now he was well aware that Albert had never had the capacity to feel love. He might have a heart pumping his blood round like anyone else, but whatever it was in most humans that gave them emotional feelings towards others, this was missing in Albert.

He could play-act emotions superbly; in the past he had shown such tenderness, adoration and sympathy that William had stopped listening to his conscience and would have run off to live in the woods with the man if he’d asked. But in the end William had seen it was all a sham. The only emotion Albert was capable of was hate, for his humble origins and for anyone he considered more fortunate than himself.

As William reached the open-fronted woodshed, Albert stopped sawing logs. Despite the cold he was glistening with perspiration, and he had stripped off to his smock and breeches. He looked dirty and unkempt, his hair tangled and almost reaching his shoulders, his beard studded with traces of past meals, and the smell of stale sweat was overpowering.

‘Come to help me, Billie?’ he asked with a sly smirk. ‘The old girl’s company got too dull for you?’

William felt nauseous that he’d ever lain with this man, for he could see so clearly now that he was just a cold-blooded whore.

‘Lady Harvey is very good company,’ William said. ‘And I have come to tell you that you are dismissed. You will vacate the gatehouse and leave Briargate for good by Friday.’

Albert sat himself down on a log, reaching in his pocket for his pipe and tobacco as if he hadn’t heard. ‘You can’t dismiss me,’ he grinned as he packed the tobacco into his pipe. ‘We’re bound together for ever, Billy boy!’

William was every bit as intimidated as Albert intended him to be. He tried not to look at the man’s rippling muscles that strained the sleeves of his shirt, or his powerful hands. He made himself picture Rufus’s face, and the smile he knew he’d see when he told him Albert was gone for good.

‘We are not bound together. You’ll go by Friday or I will have you thrown out.’

‘Now, come on.’ Albert forgot his pipe and rose from the log, his lips drawing back in a snarl. ‘You want me to go telling tales to Lady Harvey?’

‘You can if you wish, but she already knows everything.’

Albert made a snort of derision, clearly not believing this. ‘Don’t fucking well try to bluff me,’ he said, and he turned in the direction of the house.

William let him go on ahead a little way; then he walked just far enough across the lawn so Anne could see him from the dining-room window and beckoned her to come out.

Albert was almost at the back door when it opened and Anne stood there.

‘Come on out, Anne,’ William called. ‘I’m having trouble convincing Albert that we have no secrets from each other.’

For the first time in all the years he’d known Albert, William sawhim look uncertain. His eyes narrowed and darted between William and Anne, like a cornered rat’s.

William felt proud of Anne. She had flung a purple shawl around her shoulders and its regal colour, with her eyes like flint and her poised stance, gave her a queenly and composed appearance.

‘I take it Sir William has given you the order to leave?’ she said, her voice as crisp and cold as the morning. ‘We are willing to give you a character; you have after all tended the garden very well.’

‘Captain Pettigrew tended your garden well too,’ Albert replied.

William sucked in his breath at that sly retort, knowing it was intended to make his wife scuttle inside in fright. But she just smiled, and walked straight over to William and took his arm.

‘My husband is very well aware of my past relationship with Captain Pettigrew,’ she said. ‘You cannot hurt us, Albert.’

Albert’s face grew dark with anger and he started to bluster and swear, threatening to go down to the village and tell everyone all he knew about both of them.

‘How can you do that without incriminating yourself?’ Anne retorted. ‘Country folk don’t like “nancy boys”. We have only to tell the Renton men that you are trying to slander us and they’ll willingly tear you limb from limb. You have no friends in the village, but we have many.’

‘Master Rufus won’t like what I have to say,’ he said, and William could sense he was desperate now, completely thrown by the news that they had admitted their past sins to each other.

Anne laughed humourlessly. ‘Really, Albert! What a silly goose you are! Do you really think he’d believe a word you’d say? He loathes you, and has always blamed you for Hope’s disappearance. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t demand a new police investigation into that too. Pack your bags and be gone, Albert, your time here is up. You have nothing left now to blackmail us with.’

‘You are forgetting I’ve got the letter from Captain Pettigrew,’ he snarled. ‘That’s evidence.’

William moved closer to Albert. ‘At times like this gentlemen stick together,’ he said, putting a snarl into his voice. ‘I grew up with the Captain, and he’ll say that letter is a forgery. What’s more, he’ll come over here and give you a good hiding for your trouble.’

‘I’ll go to law,’ Albert said wildly.

William laughed at him contemptuously. ‘Do you really think a gardener could challenge a member of the aristocracy and win? You’d be shipped off to Botany Bay. Now, away with you! Leave the gatehouse before Friday morning and you shall have a character. But if you are still there, I’ll have you thrown out without one.’

Anne’s hand slipped into William’s as they watched Albert slink off round the side of the house. ‘Will he go?’ she whispered.

‘I think so,’ William replied. He felt good about himself now, for he’d protected Anne, Rufus and Briargate. ‘He really has no choice. Even if he does slink down to the ale house and tell a few tales, no one will believe them. Now, we must go in before you catch cold. I think we’ll have a glass of sherry to celebrate.’

That night, in the dim light of a flickering candle, Albert sat at his table in the gatehouse with a large heap of money before him. As he counted it into piles, he took long swigs from a bottle of rum. Normally counting his money gave him immense pleasure, for he had enjoyed bleeding William dry for all these years. But tonight he was too full of rage to concentrate.

He had thought he was set up for life here; that he had William and Anne in the palm of his hand. His long-term plan was to wait until they were forced to sell Briargate, and he’d be waiting ready to buy it. He hadn’t anticipated that the worms would turn.

He had more than enough money to go anywhere; he had his health, strength and a keen enough mind to do anything he chose, but it was the garden at Briargate that he wanted. He had created it: every tree, shrub and flower was his. He’d toiled over it for sixteen years, nurtured it, dreamed and planned, and now they were snatching it from him.

He had always thought himself as sturdy as an oak, that nothing could shock or dismay him. When weak, pathetic William turned up at the woodshed this morning, his first thought had been that the man wanted him again, even if he was glowering.

When he told him to pack up and leave, Albert wanted to laugh. William had said that before, and he’d always backed down after a brief reminder of how things stood.

He would have bet all the money on the table that William would never tell his wife what he was. Yet he had, and she’d told him about the Captain. They’d stood there together, smug as you like, and the final body blow was that remark of William’s: ‘Do you really think a gardener could challenge a member of the aristocracy and win?’

That made him savage. He didn’t like reminders that he was a working man.

When he was a small boy he had hated his rough clothes, having to go barefoot and all that went with being born into a poor family. His mother used to say with scorn that he belonged in a palace.

At ten he was packed off to Hever Castle to work in the gardens there. Within just a few months he’d caught the eye of the head groom, and night after night he had to submit to the man using him like a woman.

He was fourteen when the head groom died suddenly of a heart attack, and Albert couldn’t have been happier. He wasn’t interested in girls, but he thought in the fullness of time the right one would come along and he would forget those acts which had shamed him for so long.