The Beekeeper's Daughter (17 page)

As she strode into the throng she felt a surge of triumph. She didn’t look back but she knew her small gesture of defiance would have taken Freddie by surprise, as much as it had surprised her. For a moment she worried about who she was going to talk to – she didn’t want to bump into Lady Georgina – but there, his face beaming with pleasure, was Colonel Redwood.

When it was time to go, Grace was engulfed by a terrible sense of defeat. Rufus was getting married. She might never see him again. He had said he would die here at Walbridge when he was old; he hadn’t mentioned that he’d live here
now
. He had told her he’d live in London and she assumed he’d remain there until his father died and he inherited the estate. It might be years before she laid eyes on him again. Years and years. She felt a rising desperation in her chest and a tightening sensation in her throat. If she had been alone she might have given in to tears, but as it was she had to smile even though her heart was flagging.

Lord Melville and Lady Georgina were at the gate, shaking hands with the guests as they left. It wasn’t a formal line and some were simply waving and thanking them as they passed. But Grace found herself in front of Rufus once again, alongside Freddie and her father. This time Rufus did not allow his eyes to linger. He said goodbye politely and Lady Georgina told her how delicious the honey was. ‘I’ll make sure Mrs Emerson sends a box of it up to London,’ she said, shaking Grace’s hand with her cold, thin one.

‘I wish you many happy years together,’ said Arthur, now lightheaded and garrulous from the cocktails. ‘I look forward to your return to Walbridge.’

‘So do I,’ said Lady Georgina graciously. ‘You’ll have to keep sending us your honey. It will be nice to have a little bit of Walbridge Hall in Edgerton Place.’ Grace swallowed her despair and moved on through the gate. She was overcome by a wave of sorrow and hurried over to her bike, which was leaning against the house where she had left it. She didn’t say goodbye to Freddie and she didn’t wait for her father. She pedalled hard for home, tears streaming down her face, ruining her make-up and her newfound confidence, now in tatters.

When Arthur arrived at the cottage he found Grace beside the hives, sobbing. ‘Gracey?’ he asked, hurrying over. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

‘I’m just terribly unhappy,’ she replied.

‘Unhappy? Why?’ He studied her blotchy face in bewilderment.

She was about to blurt out the truth, but something stopped her. A man like Arthur Hamblin would never understand her love for Lord Melville. To him, love between two people of a different class was inconceivable and foolish. She’d discussed Jane Austen with him enough to be sure of that. ‘Freddie was so cruel,’ she said instead.

Arthur’s face softened and he nodded.
This
was a situation he could deal with. ‘He’s only cruel because he’s sweet on you.’

Grace stared at him, genuinely surprised. ‘Sweet on me?’ she repeated.

‘Can’t you see it? I can. So can May.’ He laughed. ‘In fact, I think everyone can see it but you.’

‘Then why is he so horrid?’

‘Because he’s jealous.’

‘Of who?’

‘Of Lord Melville, of course.’

‘Why would he be jealous of Rufus?’

‘Because he thinks you’ve taken a shine to him.’ Before Grace could protest, he continued. ‘Of course,
I
know you haven’t. He’s a gentleman and nice girls like you will always admire and respect a gentleman, but Freddie is young and he’s wildly jealous of any other man who goes near you.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I know more than you think. Freddie’s always been like a brother to you, but now you’ve grown into a pretty young woman he’s struggling with his feelings. He’s a man looking at you with a man’s eyes and it’s all very confusing. Of course, it wouldn’t be so confusing if you gave him a little hope.’

‘Hope?’

‘He’d be good for you, Gracey,’ he told her seriously. ‘One day, when Mr Garner retires, he’ll be running the farm. He’s naturally clever and he understands the land with a peasant’s instinct. Besides, everyone likes him. He’s a good lad. You’d do well to marry a man like Freddie, who’ll be able to look after you – and you won’t have to leave Walbridge.’

‘Or you,’ she replied, granting him a small smile.

‘Well, I don’t want you to leave me, Gracey, but you will, one day. It’s natural. You’ll marry and move out and I’ll be left on my own.’

‘Why have you never remarried, Dad? You’re a good-looking man and you’re kind and funny; any woman would be lucky to have you. Besides, you’re not old.’

He shrugged, and then turned his eyes away. ‘I never wanted to replace your mother,’ he replied, resting his hand on the top of the beehive.

‘It wasn’t because of me?’

‘No, you would have thrived with a nice step-mum to look after you.’

‘I like being with you, just the two of us. We’re a team.’

He grinned. ‘A
good
team.’

‘If one day I marry, you know I’ll never move far away. I just couldn’t be far away from you, Dad.’

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Gracey. But I’m grateful for the thought.’

He patted her gently. ‘You’re a good girl. Don’t let Freddie upset you. He’s just immature. Maybe you could look at him with different eyes, now that you’re a woman. Life is a long road, and it’s sometimes hard. To choose to travel that road with a man who knows you, understands you and shares the same culture, would be a wise choice indeed.’

‘But what about the breathless, all-consuming love that writers have described over the centuries? Shouldn’t I hold out for that?’

‘Passion doesn’t last, Grace. Look at Vronsky and Anna Karenina. That kind of passion is all part of forbidden love.’

‘Elizabeth Bennet and Darcy, then?’ she suggested instead.

Her father smiled. ‘How dull
their
lives would have been after marriage. Darcy had no sense of humour. Elizabeth Bennet was much too good for him.’ He looked at her seriously now. ‘What you need is love, of course, but the steady, loyal, constant love of a friend. I think you might already love Freddie, but not know it. Here you are looking over his shoulder when the man for you is standing right in front of your nose.’

‘I’ve never thought of Freddie in that way.’

‘Then I have sown the seed. We don’t need to speak about it any more. I would never push you to marry anyone you didn’t want to marry. But I can guide you. Now, let’s go and let the dog out. We could take him for a walk in the woods, if you like. He could do with a run and I could do with some exercise after all that cake. I’ll tell you about the book I’m reading. I think you’d enjoy it. It’s a wise and uplifting tale.’

That evening, as her father settled into his easy chair and opened his book, Grace’s thoughts wandered to Freddie. She certainly hadn’t guessed that his unkind comments were made out of jealousy. Freddie as a suitor had never entered her mind. Freddie as a husband was even more inconceivable, but it was a sobering thought. Was that
all
she could hope for? She recalled Rufus’s comment about the monotony of his predictable life and she realized that she knew what he meant. Predictable, for her, was to marry Freddie. She’d spend the rest of her life in Walbridge. Their children would be born here and grow up here and she’d end up in the village cemetery like those who had lived the same sheltered life and died before her. It was a lonely thought and the more she dwelt on it, the lonelier she became. But what was the alternative? To live a life dreaming of a man she could never have? It was over. She had to erase Rufus from her heart or there would never be space for anyone else, and the thought of a life without love was unbearable.

At least if she remained here in Walbridge she might glimpse him from time to time. Their lives would run on parallel lines, and occasionally, as they turned the odd corner or climbed the odd hill, she’d see him and that would be something.

Chapter 12

Grace tried to forget about Rufus. She went back to her life – reading for Colonel Redwood, looking after her father, meeting her friends in the Fox and Goose – and pushed into the recesses of her mind her brief moment on the lawn with Rufus. She discovered that by focusing on the present, she was able to prevent her mind from wandering into the past. When she wasn’t busy, she watched the bees. Every time Rufus’s face surfaced, she concentrated all her attention on the small creatures she so loved. She watched them working in the flowerbeds and she watched them coming in and out of the hives. She listened to their low buzzing, and as the summer days grew shorter and the evenings chillier, she found that if she applied herself to her task, it worked. But it required a monumental effort, and at night, when she lay in bed with nothing but her will to control the determined wandering of her mind, she gave in. She was too tired and too unhappy to fight it.

Freddie was busy with the harvest. He was up at dawn and spending all day in the fields, thatching ricks, cutting the wheat and barley, tying them into stooks to dry in the sun. May made him sandwiches, which he ate in the shade with the other labourers, and fed him supper when he returned after dark, his clothes full of dust, his face smeared with sweat and dirt, worn out and ready for bed. Grace barely saw him. She barely saw her father, either, for he was busy in the vegetable garden, picking fruit and vegetables to feed the large house parties being held at the Hall. She took over the beekeeping and spent hours in the shed washing jars, sticking on new labels and preparing for the harvest. Once they’d extracted the honey in early September they’d take it up to the farm office in crates. She wondered whether Lady Georgina would really send for some from London and whether the jars she held in her hands would eventually be held in Rufus’s. It was a thought that caught her off guard and consequently broke through her resistance. Holding the glass in her hand, she could almost feel the warmth of his fingers on top of hers. As she prepared each jar she took her time, placing them carefully in rows along the shelves of the shed with a silent prayer for Rufus.

At the end of the summer the village celebrated the harvest festival with a church service. Grace found herself sitting next to Freddie. He was tanned and slim, his auburn hair bleached in the sun and falling over his forehead in thick chunks. His eyes shone bluer against his brown skin and his freckles had multiplied and spread across his nose and cheeks. The hard work had made a man out of him and Grace noticed for the first time how handsome he was. ‘How have you been, Grace?’ Freddie asked in a low voice.

‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘Busy preparing for the honey harvest and reading to Colonel Redwood.’ She noticed Freddie’s legs were longer. He seemed to take up more space in the pew. She also noticed his smell. ‘What have you put on yourself?’ she asked, giving a sniff. She felt him grow hot and wished she hadn’t asked.

‘Shaving foam,’ he replied, rubbing his chin selfconsciously.

She glanced at him and noticed his cheeks were red. ‘It smells nice,’ she said, then laughed at herself for giving him a compliment. She’d never told Freddie he smelt nice before.

She waited for him to put her down or to make her feel stupid for such an uncharacteristic comment, but he didn’t. To her surprise he smiled at her with affection.

‘You smell of a summer garden,’ he said. His blush deepened.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, when I think of you,’ – he looked embarrassed – ‘I think of flowers.’

Grace stared at him in astonishment. ‘That’s nice,’ she said, wanting to be more effusive but not finding the words.

At that moment the Marquess and Marchioness of Penselwood walked down the aisle in a stately procession with the frail and shrunken Dowager Marchioness beside them, and took their places in the front pew. The congregation hushed. Grace was not surprised that Rufus was absent. He was never at Walbridge these days. She found herself searching the faces of the Marquess’s party, for he seemed always to be accompanied by an entourage of house guests, but Rufus’s was definitely not among them. She
was
surprised, however, to find that she didn’t suffer the habitual pang of disappointment and was easily distracted by Freddie’s knee pressing gently against hers. She didn’t move her leg away but let it rest there, feeling a strange and unfamiliar thrill as the warmth seemed to travel all the way up her body and cause her spine to tingle. If Freddie felt the same sensation, he didn’t let it show. But Grace noticed that every time they sat down after singing a hymn, his knee returned to touch hers, and every time she felt the pressure of his proximity, the warmth between them intensified.

After the service they all flooded into the churchyard to mingle and chat. Freddie was eager to talk to her. ‘Will you come to the river this afternoon?’ he asked, gazing down at her hopefully. ‘I feel I haven’t seen you for months.’

‘
You’re
the one who hasn’t had time for
me
,’ she replied.

‘I know, it’s been mad.’

She smiled, unsure of the strange new energy that vibrated between them. ‘You’ve been working hard,’ she said, looking him up and down and thinking how thin he’d become. ‘Isn’t Auntie May feeding you?’

‘I’ve never worked so hard in my life, but I love it, Grace.’ His eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘I love being out in the fields. I love the physical challenge of it. It’s the best thing I ever did.’

‘That’s nice, Freddie. Mr Garner really better watch out, then.’

‘He’d better. One day I’m going to be running the whole estate.’

‘I bet you will, too.’ Her cheeks burned with admiration. The dynamic between them had changed in just a few months. She no longer felt older than him. He had caught up with her and run on ahead, turning from a boy into a man in a few giant leaps.

‘Will you come?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’ll come,’ she replied, and the smile her answer induced gave her an unexpected frisson of pleasure.

A while later she was taking the shortcut home with her father. The leaves were yet to turn but the light was the softer, golden hue of early autumn. The fields were all cut and the stubble gleamed in the sunshine. She thought of Freddie and the hours he had spent in those fields. The labour had strengthened his shoulders and toned his body and given him a certain vivacity which she found very attractive. She glanced across at her father and thought how, for him, the physical work just wore him out. He looked tired.