Tall Poppies (14 page)

‘Livia! What were you doing on the floor?' Chad gazed at the major, bewildered, then his eyes widened. ‘Is he dead  . . . have you killed him?'

Just at that moment Livia wished he were dead. ‘He's had too much to drink. He's passed out and I can't wake him.'

‘Why are you crying?'

‘A gust of wind came down the chimney and blew smoke into my eyes.'

‘Esmé is awake. Can we go home now? Bertie will be hungry, and the cook has given me some scraps to take for him.'

The sooner she got out of the house, the better. ‘Yes  . . . Go upstairs and tell Mr Beamish while I find our coats and wrap Esmé up warm. I'll just take the dustpan to the kitchen.'

When she came back out with Esmé in her arms, Beamish was gazing down at the major. He looked up at her, at her dishevelled state, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Are you all right?'

She avoided looking at him. Her ripped underwear was dangling from the elastic waistband, and she was sore, sticky, and bruised where he'd chaffed her between her thighs. She was worried that the remnants of her undergarments might drop to the floor. ‘Of course I am  . . . why shouldn't I be?'

‘No reason, except you're trembling, and you look as though you've been crying. Your breath smells of whisky.'

She'd start crying all over again if he kept this up. ‘I'll thank you to keep your observations to yourself,' she snapped, then immediately felt guilty. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I'm just tired. I want to go home, have a wash before I go to bed. I'm looking forward to a good night's sleep.'

She wanted several washes, in fact, and after that she wanted to sleep for as long as it took to forget what the major had done to her. And she wanted to gargle the taste of his whisky from her mouth. The thought brought the urge to retch  . . . something she hoped she could keep from doing before she got back to the cottage.

Beamish shrugged. ‘I'll move the major when I get back if he hasn't moved himself. Allow me to carry the youngster to the car for you. Take the torch and light our path, Chad.'

She stopped herself from retching long enough to get outside, where she rushed into the shrubbery and was sick.

Depositing the children in the car, Beamish returned, the ever-ready flashlight darting from side to side until he located her. He handed her his handkerchief.

‘It must be something I ate.'

‘Are you all right?' He gave the faintest of smiles. ‘I don't think the major would appreciate you vomiting in his car.'

It would be poetic justice, she thought, with a sudden burst of anger. ‘I'm all right now, Mr Beamish. I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything to the captain. His condition seems to be improving a little, and I don't want him to worry. I'm not ill, and nothing happened to be alarmed about.'

The expression in his eyes told her that Beamish had his suspicions. She'd never tell him – she'd never tell anyone. She was much too ashamed. So she seized on one of his observations. ‘You were right about the whisky. I thought I'd try some, and it was too strong. I'm not used to it, you see.'

‘Yes  . . . I see how something like that would have upset your stomach. The major gave you it, did he.'

‘I only had one glass. It wasn't very nice  . . . I didn't like it and I won't drink it again, I promise.' Now she'd started talking she didn't seem able to stop as she followed after him to the car. ‘I don't know what you men see in drinking whisky, honestly I don't.'

‘Don't you, Miss?'

‘No  . . . I'll never drink it again.' In fact, if she even smelled whisky on a man's breath again, she was sure she would vomit. She fell silent as the enormity of what had happened hit her. How on earth would she be able to face the major in the morning?

She needn't have worried, the major made it easy for her, acting as though nothing had happened.

At first she thought he'd forgotten the incident, but then he called her into the study. Although she left the door open, he closed it.

‘I'd rather it was left open.'

‘What I have to say to you is private,' and he ran a hand across his brow. ‘Listen, m'dear  . . . I was rather inebriated last night  . . . had some bad news  . . . Rosemary said she's running off with some film producer chap. The point is, Livia, I seem to remember taking a few liberties. Wouldn't have hurt you deliberately  . . . that goes without saying.' He hauled in a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I can't remember much about it  . . .' He spread his hands and grimaced. ‘I don't know how far I went  . . . you know what I mean, I expect.'

Livia felt nothing but relief that he didn't remember, and she was deeply embarrassed by the whole thing. ‘No, I'm afraid not. Nothing happened, really, Major.' Perhaps nothing had. She wasn't sure now. A physical relationship with a man was something she'd never experienced before. ‘You tried to give me a New Year's kiss, then fell over. Can I go now? I have work to do.'

He came towards her, a piece of paper in his hand. She backed away until the door stopped her. He came to a halt at arm's length, and held out the paper. The guarded expression was gone from his eyes, as though he'd manipulated her way of thinking to achieve the desired result. Instinct told her that he had, and she felt instantly dirty and experienced a strong urge to scrub herself again.

‘The thing is  . . . I'd be obliged if you kept this little episode to yourself, Livia. After all, we wouldn't like to upset Richard, would we? This is for you, a little bonus for your trouble. No damage done.'

‘I don't want anything.'

‘Nonsense.' He slid the cheque into her apron pocket and she panicked when he accidentally brushed his hand across her stomach.

Thrusting the door open, she ran without bothering about direction, nearly bumping into Florence who'd just descended the staircase carrying an ash bucket, dustpan and brush. ‘Sorry.'

The study door clicked shut.

A few seconds later and she was in the drawing room. Pulling the cheque from her pocket she tore it into shreds.

When Florence followed her in, Livia hastily threw the pieces on to the cold ashes in the grate and stirred them in with the toe of her shoe.

‘You look like you've just seen a ghost. The first Mrs Sangster isn't in the study, is she?'

Livia managed a tight smile. ‘No, just Major Henry. I'm a bit under the weather. The cramps must be due.' It was a lie, since they weren't due for a fortnight.

Captain Sangster wants to see you,' Florence said, and her eyes were shining with happiness. ‘I think he's going to propose to me.'

Livia knew very well who Florence was referring to, but she couldn't resist it. ‘Who  . . . Captain Sangster?'

Florence snorted. ‘Beamish, of course. He wants to see me tonight, private like. He told me he had something special to say to me. Fancy me being Mrs Beamish. I won't know who people are talking to.'

‘I expect you'll soon get the hang of it.' She kissed Florence on the cheek. ‘He's a lovely man, very sincere, and has plans for the future, but I expect he's told you about them.'

Florence looked mystified by that.

‘If he hasn't, I imagine he'll tell you to present himself in the best light possible. I'm sure you will suit each other very well, Florence, dear. I shall expect an invitation to the wedding.'

‘Oh, it probably won't take place until after the captain  . . . well, until the captain no longer needs him. Anyway, he hasn't asked me yet, and we'll get engaged first, I expect, like most people do  . . . just in case someone thinks I'm in the family way. Not that I am, but you know what people are like when arrangements are too rushed.' She turned red. ‘Well, I'd best get on, since the work doesn't happen by itself.'

‘I'll go up and see the captain. I'll take some coffee and biscuits up with me.'

Beamish opened the door and his searching scrutiny made her avert her eyes. He knew nothing, only suspected, she thought.

Richard greeted her with a smile, which faded as he gazed through his delicious blue eyes at her and said, ‘You don't look happy. Why?'

She wanted to cry at that, for he was good at tuning into her moods. ‘Oh, I'm just having one of those down days. I'm trying not to carry the misery around with me.'

‘You're not succeeding very well, since you look like a wet weekend.'

‘Thank you very much. Stop being so beastly.'

He gazed at Beamish. ‘Take a break, Sergeant. With a bit of luck you might run into that feisty little Florence of yours.'

Beamish raised a smile and left, humming to himself.

Making an effort, Livia summoned up a smile especially for Richard. ‘How are you this morning?'

‘All the better now you're here.'

‘Thank you.' Her heart gave a little lift. ‘Florence said you wanted to see me.'

‘I always want to see you. I think I'm falling in love with you  . . .'

That gave her a bit of a jolt. Richard was teasing, of course, but if he ever discovered what had happened with his father  . . . She rolled her eyes, letting him know what she felt about such a silly idea. ‘Behave yourself, Richard.'

‘Yes, Ma'am.'

But was it so silly? She loved him too, but in her own way, for there was nothing about him not to love. Her affection for him, though motivated by pity, was strong. It was not inconceivable that he imagined himself in love with her, since he relied on her for many small comforts.

She began to pour the coffee, the liquid an aromatic darkness pooling within the white interior of the cup. Dropping in three sugar lumps, she added a good inch of cream to cool it, and placed a plate with a couple of iced biscuits next to it. ‘Do you need any help?'

‘I'm having a good day today.' To prove it, he ate the biscuits without dropping crumbs everywhere. Then he carefully looped a hand around the handle of the cup, the other supporting the other side, and took several sips before giving a satisfied sigh and replacing the cup on the table.

‘Well done, Richard.'

He grimaced. ‘You sound like my nursery school teacher.'

‘Sometimes I feel like one.'

He laughed. ‘
Touché.
Arrangements have been made.'

‘About?'

‘Dents rang me. He'll pick you up and drive you into Poole hospital to get the tests done tomorrow.'

‘That's nice of him to spend some of his precious time driving me around. I admit, I'll be glad when they're over and done with.'

‘No doubt you will. By the way, I managed to get in touch with the headmaster at King's Charter and we had a little chat. They're willing to take Chad, as long as he's healthy, and depending on the results of the exam. They're sending a set of exam papers to the reverend for Chad to sit under his supervision, since the man used to be the school chaplain in his youth.'

‘Chad will be able to ride to the rectory on his bicycle. He's worried about his Latin, though.'

He won't have to sit the exam for a week, and besides, they won't expect much at his age, especially from a boy who's been brought up in an institution. Tell him to come up at ten, with his book, pen and paper. I'll coach him in the basics for an hour every day. Between us we'll soon show the headmaster what Chad is made of. Mornings will be best, I'm more lively then.'

‘So I've noticed. Your speech is good today.'

‘My health has improved since I've been home, and I feel more confident. My aim is to walk around the garden unaided. The last time I tried it I nearly fell into one of the rose beds. Thankfully, young Bugg was there to catch me. What happened to old Bugg?'

‘He retired and his grandson took over.'

‘Yes, I suppose that makes sense, and it gives Foxglove House a sense of continuity.'

Something it wouldn't have for much longer. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, make him feel secure, but it would probably have the opposite effect.

‘What happened yesterday with my father?'

She shrivelled inside at the reminder. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Yes you do. Beamish said you found the major passed out on the floor.'

‘Oh, that.'

‘Yes  . . . Oh, that. I'm surprised you didn't tell me.'

‘Goodness, Richard, I've hardly had time. Beamish was there, he said the major had drunk a little too much whisky, and he'd see to him after he'd taken us home. I was trying to rouse him. Did Beamish think I was trying to pick his pockets?'

‘He was worried about you  . . . said you were
untidy
. He also said you were sick in the shrubbery.'

Crossly, she said, ‘Beamish said a lot for someone I specifically asked not to say anything. I knew you'd worry. I drank some whisky too, and as for being untidy, one usually is at the end of a day's work.'

He drew her eyes to his with one glance. ‘You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Livia?'

To which she forced out a smile. There was lying, and then there was lying by omission. ‘It's entirely possible.'

He laughed at that.

She finished her coffee and placed the cup back on the tray. ‘I'm going to get some work done. Would you like my biscuits?'

He nodded. ‘It would be a shame to waste them.'

When she was halfway to the door, he murmured, ‘Livia, would you really lie to me?'

‘You've had my answer.'

‘I know an evasion when I hear one.'

‘You have a good imagination then, for you obviously know an evasion when you don't hear one as well. Enjoy your biscuits, Richard.'

‘Don't forget to send Chad up.'

She nodded. ‘He'll appreciate your help.'

Richard watched her go, his eyes narrowing. What he hadn't said was that Beamish had mentioned that his father's trousers were open and his undergarments disturbed, so he was exposed.