Straw in the Wind (10 page)

‘That looks good, Fanny, well done. You're making good progress.'

Fanny smiled proudly at the praise.

A week later, Giles's sweetheart joined them. Jassy Bennett was a buxom lass with round rosy cheeks covered in freckles, hazel eyes and a ready smile. ‘Pa said I can come to school as long as he doesn't have to pay anything.'

The glory that was September and October passed into a still, grey November with misty mornings that smelled of bonfires.

A message arrived from Oscar saying that he'd be bringing the master down halfway through November, and they'd stay until after Christmas. Fanny put an extra shine on the furniture, Sara went through menus with Maggie and placed bowls of the fragrant pot-pourri she'd made in the summer around the house. The guide rope was threaded through the new walk and Sara went into Taunton to order the extra provisions they'd need, and to arrange for their delivery and the winter supply of coal for the fires. She also bought some small Christmas gifts.

Giles left Sara at the crossroads since he was visiting the farmer to pick up a flitch of bacon, and to take the opportunity to visit Jassy at the same time.

‘Tell the farmer that we'll need an extra jug of milk every day, and tell Jassy there will be no more lessons until Mr Leighton has returned to London. Tell her she should keep practising with the chalk on her slate,' she called out, as he headed towards the farm.

Her basket over her arm, and wrapped warmly in her grey, hooded cloak Sara enjoyed the walk. She enjoyed even more the sight of the house through the bare branches of the trees, and the smoke trickling from the chimneys. She didn't think much about family because sometimes it hurt inside to remember things that she didn't want to, like never feeling as though anyone had ever loved her . . . like the pain of the physical beatings and the hunger.

But there was a feeling inside her sometimes, of something different waiting for her . . . something better in the future, an adventure perhaps, and it was like a voice blowing on the wind. She held her hand against the flow of the air and felt the tingle of it in her palm and the excitement in her belly. But when she slowly closed her fingers over it she felt it all trickle away out of her reach.

Deep in thought, she didn't notice the trouble waiting for her as she rounded the bend in the drive – until a menacing growl brought her back to the present.

In her path stood a rough-coated brindle lurcher, its teeth bared in a snarl, its neck fur hackled up into spikes as if it was wearing a collar of hedgehogs.

She stopped, holding her basket in front of her in defence, and said nervously, ‘Good dog.' Not taking her eyes from the dog she edged round it and backed up the drive. The dog followed her, keeping its distance. When she got to the open space she ducked under the rope, intending to cut across the lawn.

A series of rattling growls and her nerve broke. She began to run. In the corner of her eye a second dog appeared from the shadow of the porch and joined in the hunt. The oak tree! She veered right and picked up speed. As she was about to leap on to the seat, teeth sank into her boot and brought her down. When its teeth penetrated the leather, she screamed and lashed out with her basket. The dog abandoned her foot and joined the other one in worrying the hem of her cloak between them.

There was a yelp as she connected with one of the dogs. Loosening the strings on her cloak she let it fall then scrambled on to the seat and pulled herself up into the safety of the lower limbs of the oak. The two dogs leaped up at her from the seat, their snarls ferocious. When they realized they couldn't reach her, they lost interest, took her cloak between them and dragged it around the garden, snarling and tearing it to shreds on the thorns of the rose bushes in the process.

‘Freddie. Call them off,' a woman shouted.

There came a shrill whistle from the side of the house and the dogs' ears pricked up. They disappeared off towards the copse, dragging the cloak between them. Keeping a cautious eye out, Sara scrambled down from the tree, picked up her scattered things and limped over towards the door as fast as she could.

The woman who'd called out was in the porch. She was a year or so older than herself, taller, and with pale-blue eyes and light-brown hair. She stepped out of the shadows to bar her way. ‘Who are you?'

‘I'm Sara Finn, the housekeeper, and you are . . .?' Sara already had a good idea who the female was, and her words confirmed it.

‘I'm Miss Milson, Mr Leighton's niece.' Sara was subjected to a hard stare. ‘My uncle must be out of his mind to hire somebody as young as you.'

‘I expect Mr Leighton knows his own business best, don't you? Excuse me, Miss Milson, I need to tidy myself up. Do you know who those dogs belong to?' Of course she did.

Miss Milson gave a light laugh. ‘They're Freddie's dogs. He's my brother.'

‘They've ripped my cloak to shreds.'

‘Oh, don't be so stuffy. We were just having fun; we thought you were Fanny.'

When Sara went to walk round her Jane Milson moved in front of her.

‘Excuse me,' Sara said, ‘I need to go indoors.'

A hand came down on her arm, fingers hooked like claws. ‘There
is
a servants' entrance, Miss Finn, so I suggest you use it.'

Tight-lipped, Sara shrugged the arm away, turned and hurried round the side of the house. She nearly bumped into a man coming in the opposite direction. The dogs sprang at her and he spoke gruffly to them. They sat instantly, but though they were leashed and couldn't reach her she gave a strangled scream.

She didn't have to wait for the man to introduce himself. He was too much like Miss Milson to be anyone else but her brother. He had the remains of Sara's cloak over his arm. ‘Is this yours?'

‘Yes it is mine, and it's ruined.'

He shrugged. ‘It's only a cheap rag.'

‘It wasn't a rag before your dogs got hold of it. It was those dogs who attacked me, and from now on I'd be obliged if you kept them under control.'

‘You're a saucy little madam for a servant.' His smile was a well-honed sneer. ‘Do you know who I am? I'm Frederick Milson.'

He was chubbier in the face than his sister. His eyes had a slightly bulbous look, like a frog. ‘Yes, I do know. I'm Sara Finn, the new housekeeper.'

He scrutinized her for a few moments then grazed his finger gently down her cheek. ‘My uncle always appreciated a pretty female; it's a pity he can't see you.'

Taking a step back she glared at him.

‘Oh dear, so you're keeping yourself for marriage, are you?'

She blushed. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘I'm sure you do.' He huffed out a breath. ‘You don't know what you're missing. If you change your mind let me know, I'll make it worth your while.'

‘Get out of my way, you . . .
creature!
'

He stepped aside, laughing. ‘Sorry that the dogs gave you a fright. They'll be all right when they get to know you.' He took her by the wrist and, although she resisted, he didn't loosen his grip. ‘Oh, do behave, girl. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to introduce you to my dogs.'

When she relaxed he said, ‘Bunch your fist . . . good . . . now allow them to smell your hand . . . pat them.' He let go of her hand.

She was tempted to swing her arm round and give him a good slap. As if he sensed it, he said, ‘Don't be aggressive towards me, as they can smell it. And they can also smell fear.'

She saw the sense in being on friendly terms with the dogs. As for their master, he could go and eat mud! After a moment or two of caution the dogs wagged their tails and vied with each other for more pats.

He handed her the remains of her cloak. ‘Don't worry, girl, I'll make sure your cloak is replaced.'

‘Thank you. Excuse me now. I need to tidy myself up.'

Stepping aside he bowed slightly, his eyes glittering when he allowed his gaze to linger on her breasts. He smiled when she clutched her tattered cape against her bodice. ‘My pleasure, my dear.'

It was a relief to get away from him. When she entered the kitchen, Maggie's lips tightened. ‘I imagine you've just met Mr Frederick Milson and his sister? They came bowling up in the station cab about an hour ago. What did you think of them?'

She managed a wry smile.

‘Well, all I can say is, thank goodness the master will be arriving tomorrow.'

Dear Mr Chapman,

We met recently at the opening of the Thornton emporium. I'm acquainted with your delightful sister, Miss Chapman, who was a gracious guest at an afternoon tea hosted by my sister and me.

Yesterday, I came across a small notice in the local paper requesting information about a certain infant who was left at a certain orphanage on a certain day, and mentioning a certain reward. I would be grateful if you would keep the following information confidential.

A
dam winced. Did Lucy Stanhope need to dramatize her prose by the use of verbal dittos?

Celia smiled at him and raised an eyebrow.

‘Lucy Stanhope is being a bloodhound,' he told her, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

‘Ah, one of the dreaded gossip sisters,' Celia said with a grimace.

‘Hush, Celia. How can you be so mean about them when they inform me that you're a gracious and delightful creature.'

Celia grinned at him. ‘That was a state that was unbelievably difficult to achieve and maintain at the time, believe me. Does Miss Lucy have any information? As I told you, her sister was reluctant to say anything, though they were as nervous as hens and you could see they were dying to lay their eggs and cluck loudly.' She sighed. ‘Failing to get them to talk proved to me that my detecting abilities are without merit at present.'

‘Marianne was of the opinion that it was because her husband had put Agnes and Lucy Stanhope firmly in their place, and had been rather forceful about it.'

‘What does the woman have to say for herself?'

Adam quickly read the rest of the letter, then his eyes sharpened. ‘Apart from what we already know, she says that when Constance Jarvis was taken ill and it became apparent that she wouldn't survive, her coachman and his wife moved to a farm in Gloucester. She writes:
They already had two children of their own, a girl and a boy. But a former maid who visited her there told Lucy that she saw two girls living with them
,
and they were of a similar age
.' Taking his eyes from the words he gazed up at her, smiling. ‘This is progress, something you paved the way for since your presence at their tea party gave them the means to approach me.'

‘Perhaps the person who told Lucy Stanhope made a mistake.'

‘You mean the maid might have been cross-eyed and saw the same girl twice?' He laughed. ‘That's possible, but not many people are unable to count past two. The maid also told her that the girl looked like Constance Jarvis's young ward. The couple denied it though, saying she was their niece.'

‘Isn't it possible that she
was
their niece?' Celia laughed when she saw the gleam in her brother's eyes. ‘I can see that the letter has piqued your interest, since your nose is twitching, as Marianne once pointed out. Out with it then, Adam.'

‘It was rumoured that the farm was bought with a legacy from Miss Jarvis. She believes the place was called Tumblesham, and it was situated in the Forest of Dean area.'

‘Are you going there?'

‘I most certainly am. You can handle the office for a short while, and if you can't, you have plenty of competent help at hand. I shouldn't be more than three days.'

‘What was the name of the coachman; did Miss Lucy say?'

‘Christopher Fenn. His wife was called Emmy.'

‘Don't forget Edgar Wyvern wants to talk to you. He's coming over for dinner tonight.'

‘I haven't forgotten. I won't be leaving until the morning, anyway.'

They exchanged a smile, both of them with the same thought, that it was slightly strange that their mother's swain should seek the blessing of her son, who was less than half his age.

But Adam's interview with Edgar Wyvern turned out to be more illuminating than that.

After dinner the older man, who was a distinguished barrister of fifty years, retired to the front room with Adam. Sipping at his brandy he said, ‘You know that I hold your mother in great affection and esteem, Adam.'

‘Indeed I do.'

‘Then you wouldn't put any objection forward if we married?'

‘Of course not, Edgar. And I speak for my sister, as well. We both want our mother to be happy.'

‘I'm sure I can support your mother in a manner that she'd enjoy and appreciate. Your sister as well, if she'd care to come and live with us. She would socialise with many more people, which would give her a chance to meet a suitor, if that's her wish.'

Adam offered him a faint smile. ‘That will be for Celia to decide, since she is of age. But my sister enjoys a quiet life, and I think she's reconciled herself to spinsterhood, and being useful by working and earning a living for herself.'

‘I'm not advocating that we marry her off to the first man who takes an interest in her, nor abandon her need to be usefully employed. But rather, that she moves in an environment where she can meet people in a more social atmosphere. I entertain often, as you will discover.'

Adam remembered Celia's laugh ringing out when she'd been with Marianne Thornton. Perhaps his sister did need friends of her own age. It was not up to him to say what she did and didn't need. It was entirely possible that she'd enjoy having a home and family to look after. He brought his mind back to what Edgar was saying.

‘That would leave you free to conduct your own life in the manner a young man should, without the added responsibility of providing both moral and financial support for your sister.'