The Beggar Maid (23 page)

‘But surely she's not entitled to any of it now, sir. And how do Daniel and Harry come into it?'

‘They're both pawns in their mother's game. Daniel is young and he's weak and Harry has inherited the Bligh gambling streak. It wouldn't have been difficult to get him on their side. His mother always had a hold on young Harry.'

‘But the land is yours, sir. Surely they can't take what belongs to you?'

‘I'm on the verge of bankruptcy.' He sat for a moment, staring morosely out of the window. He sighed heavily. ‘My solicitor told me yesterday that an application to have me declared incompetent to handle my own affairs has been lodged with the courts. He named no names but I've no doubt it was Harry – his mother will have put him up to it. Myrtle is a vindictive woman who would delight in my downfall, which is imminent unless I can do something to save myself from being declared bankrupt.'

Charity knew better than to question him further, but even with what little she knew of Harry she could not believe that he would treat his own father in such a cruel way. She sat in silence, looking out of the window as the fields gave way to parkland studded with grazing deer, and through an avenue of trees she had her first sight of the Blighs' ancestral home.

From a distance Bligh Park looked solid and welcoming. She had seen enough illustrations of architectural styles to recognise the E-shape of an Elizabethan house constructed in mellow red brick with a slate roof and mullioned windows. It was hard to believe that Sir Hedley was poor when he owned such a splendid country estate as well as the house in Nevill's Court. As far as she was concerned, being poor meant living in a hovel or sleeping beneath railway arches, and always being hungry. She shot a wary glance at him as the carriage drew up outside the house, but he seemed to have forgotten her existence. He opened the door and climbed to the ground without waiting for the coachman to assist him, and he strode off leaving Charity to alight on her own.

She followed him into the house, where he was greeted by an aged manservant. ‘Welcome home, sir.'

‘Thank you, Parkin. Is my son here?'

Parkin cupped his hand behind his right ear. ‘I beg your pardon, sir. I'm a little hard of hearing.'

Sir Hedley repeated the question in a raised voice that shook the glass in the lantern hanging overhead.

Parkin's bottom lip trembled. ‘The boy is in trouble again, sir. I believe he fled the country.'

‘He was too cowardly to face me.' Sir Hedley uttered a derisive snort. ‘Trust him to take the easy way out. He's his mother's son.' He turned to Charity. ‘Don't just stand there. Go to the library and start sorting through the books. Look for anything that will raise the most cash.'

She could see that he was agitated and working himself up into a temper. ‘I don't know where it is, sir,' she said mildly.

‘Parkin will show you.'

‘Is the young lady a guest, Sir Hedley?' Parkin peered at Charity with myopic, rheumy eyes. ‘Shall I tell Cook to prepare dinner for two, sir?'

‘Miss Crosse will eat in the kitchen with the rest of the servants.' Sir Hedley strode towards the wide oak staircase, leaving Charity standing in the middle of the wainscoted entrance hall, feeling very small and insignificant amidst the faded grandeur of the country house. Sunlight filtered through the leaded lights, creating diamond patterns on the floorboards, which were in need of a good polish, and dust motes danced in the sunbeams.

‘I know what you're thinking, miss,' Parkin said gloomily. ‘It wasn't like this in times gone by, but there's only myself and Mrs Trevett who live in these days. There is a girl from the village who comes in daily to clean, but there's only so much that one pair of hands can do. Come this way, miss. I'll show you to the library.'

She followed him through seemingly endless corridors to the library. It was not a large room but it was lined, floor to ceiling, with shelves containing books of all shapes and sizes. A rosewood table in the centre of the faded Persian carpet was also piled high with leather-bound tomes and others were stacked on the floor, but there was nothing to sit on, and the ornately carved Carrara marble mantelshelf was bare of ornament, not even a clock. Parkin cleared his throat. ‘Most of the valuables have gone to auction, miss. I'll fetch you a chair from the kitchen if that would help.'

‘Thank you, Mr Parkin. That would be very kind.'

A weary smile deepened the lines etched on his face. ‘Just ring the bell if you need anything. I wouldn't advise you to wander off on your own. It's a big house and you could easily get lost. I'll come to fetch you when it's time for dinner.' He held his hands out to take her cloak and bonnet. ‘I'll get the girl to light a fire in your room.'

Charity smiled and thanked him again as he ambled out of the room, leaving her to face what looked like an impossible task. She picked up one of the larger books on the table and opened it, turning the pages slowly and carefully. It was a beautifully illustrated book on ornithology, and she set it aside while she cleared the table. She would pick what she hoped were the most valuable items in this vast collection and set them out for Sir Hedley to inspect. She would have to work instinctively, but she could see now why her help was needed and she would do her best.

Parkin returned with a chair and an hour later he brought her a tray of food. ‘Mrs Trevett sent you a slice of venison pie and a glass of cider,' he said, placing it on the table. ‘She said you can't work on an empty stomach.'

Charity's belly rumbled in anticipation. ‘Please thank her for me, Mr Parkin. It looks delicious and we didn't stop to have breakfast this morning.'

‘I'll pass the message on, miss.' Parkin shuffled out of the room, leaving her to perch on the chair and enjoy her meal. The pie filling was delicious and the pastry rich and crumbly. She drank the cider in thirsty gulps, only realising her mistake when her head began to spin. The sweet apple taste had masked the strength of the alcohol and she felt sleepy. ‘Fresh air,' she said out loud. ‘That's what you need, Charity Crosse.' She went to the window and opened it, taking deep breaths. The sun was shining and she had a sudden need to get away from the dust and musty smells in the library. She had found three volumes that might fetch a tidy sum, and she would work better if she took some exercise.

Having convinced herself that she would be justified in taking a short break, she left the room and retraced her steps heading towards the entrance hall, but all too soon she realised that Parkin had been right: it was very easy to get lost in the maze of passages. She began opening doors in an attempt to find Parkin or perhaps the girl who came in to clean, but she came across nothing but empty cupboards and rooms shrouded in dust covers. The house had a sorry air of neglect, like an unloved wife, and she wondered how many years it had lain like this, mourning the lack of attention in sorrowful silence. After a while she was beginning to get desperate and she had come to a dead end, but as she opened the last door she found herself in what must have once been a stately drawing room. The furniture was concealed beneath Holland covers but light filtered in through four tall windows, and double half-glassed doors led into a conservatory.

She pulled back the bolt and opened one of the doors. She stepped into the marble-tiled room, flooded with sunlight, but she came to a sudden halt when she realised that she was not alone. At the far end of the conservatory, seated at a table, were two men in their shirtsleeves. Their tweed jackets were flung over the backs of the rattan chairs and they were examining something that was covered in yellow clay. They turned their heads at the sound of the door opening and one of them leapt to his feet.

‘Charity! What on earth are you doing here?' Daniel strode towards her, holding out his hands, his face wreathed in a genuine smile of pleasure. ‘What an amazing coincidence.'

The shock of seeing him cleared her fuddled brain. ‘I knew you were at the dig, but I didn't think to find you here.' She glanced over his shoulder and her heart sank as she recognised Wilmot. The memory of their last meeting was still fresh in her mind.

Daniel's smile wavered. ‘What's the matter? It's only Wilmot. You look as though you've seen a ghost.'

She made a quick recovery as Wilmot stood up and walked over to them. ‘I didn't think Sir Hedley would welcome either of you into his house.'

Wilmot's eyes held a warning even though his lips were smiling. ‘What Hedley doesn't know won't upset him.'

‘We came in to get warm and I persuaded Mrs Trevett to feed us,' Daniel said, squeezing Charity's hand. ‘I know it must seem odd, but I feel quite at home in Bligh Park. Harry and I used to spend our school holidays here when my parents were travelling abroad. Mrs Trevett used to spoil us rotten.'

Wilmot took a step closer, fixing Charity with a warning frown. ‘I hope we can trust you to keep quiet about this.'

‘I'd entrust Charity with my life, Wilmot.' Daniel's smile faded. ‘But what are you doing here? Who's looking after the shop?'

‘I thought that Mr Barton would have noticed that the shop was closed, or perhaps someone else has taken it over.' She faced Wilmot with a steady gaze. ‘The landlord put up the rent and I couldn't pay.'

Wilmot shrugged his shoulders. ‘I had no call to visit Liquorpond Street. You made it clear that you wanted nothing more to do with me, Miss Crosse.'

Daniel looked from one to the other, frowning. ‘Harry did say that you two had fallen out, but I thought it would have been patched up by now. I haven't seen him since New Year so I'm a bit out of touch with events in London.'

‘If it hadn't been for Harry I would have been homeless,' Charity said hastily. ‘He took me to your father's house in Nevill's Court.'

Daniel stared at her in amazement. ‘My God, you must have been in desperate straits to throw yourself on Sir Hedley's mercy.'

‘Why are you here, Charity?' Wilmot's smooth tone belied the suspicious look in his eyes.

‘Sir Hedley asked me to sort through his book collection. I believe he went looking for you.' Charity shot him a sideways glance. ‘He seems to think that someone is cheating him.'

‘If anyone is in the wrong it will be Harry,' Wilmot said carelessly. ‘He had to leave the country in rather a hurry.'

‘Why was that?' Charity turned to Daniel for an explanation.

‘Don't worry about Harry,' he said cheerfully. ‘He's always getting into trouble, but he usually manages to extricate himself if left to his own devices. He takes after his father in that respect.'

‘There's your answer.' Wilmot strolled back to the table and resumed his seat. ‘Hedley hopes to raise money by selling some of his precious books, and Harry set you up in his father's house with the intention of getting his hands on some of his inheritance. I'd hazard a guess that your instructions were to choose the most valuable books and set them aside for Harry to collect, but unfortunately he won't be in a position to return to this country for some time.'

The accusation was so unfair that it took her breath away. She spun round to face him. ‘That is not how it was at all. Don't judge everyone by yourself, Mr Barton.' She glanced over his shoulder, staring pointedly at the muddy object on the table. ‘Is that something you've just dug up on Sir Hedley's land?'

‘You'd do better to mind your own business, Miss Charity Crosse. I know too much about your past.'

‘Are you threatening me, sir? I can assure you that my past is no secret to those who know me.'

‘What's all this?' Daniel demanded, frowning. ‘What has been going on in my absence? When I left Doughty Street everything was going really well. You were going to take her on as one of your pupils, Wilmot.'

‘There was more to it than that,' Charity said stiffly. ‘Your uncle had other ideas for me, Dan. I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind. As to Harry, he took me to Nevill's Court, but he left me there to make my own way. I haven't seen or heard from him since that day.'

‘I believe you,' Daniel said earnestly. He turned to Wilmot. ‘That was uncalled for. We know Charity wouldn't do anything underhand and I don't believe that Harry would cheat his own father. You're quite wrong on all counts.'

Charity managed a weak smile. ‘Thank you, Daniel. Now I have work to do, and you needn't worry that I'll say anything to Sir Hedley about this. I don't want to cause any trouble.' She turned her back on them, ignoring Daniel's plea that she stay a little longer, and she opened the door leading into the garden. She needed to breathe cool, clean air, uncontaminated by Wilmot's presence.

Her head was spinning as she struggled to understand the situation that was gradually unfolding. There were many questions buzzing around in her brain and she wondered why Sir Hedley had given permission for the excavation on his land when he suspected the motives of those involved. As to Harry, she could not believe that a mere gambling debt would be enough to make him leave the country. Wilmot's sly suggestion that he had deliberately installed her in his father's house for the purpose of stealing some of the precious book collection was as outrageous as it was insulting. She was hurt and she was angry. Wilmot was a liar, and worse than that he had convinced Daniel that he was genuine. Despite the beauty of the countryside, she had a sudden longing to return to London, leaving the haunting sadness of the dilapidated house far behind.

She decided to go in search of the servants' entrance so that she could find someone to guide her back to the library. She started off across what must once have been a well-kept parterre, but the flowerbeds and box hedges were now covered by brambles and the shaggy stems of old man's beard. She stumbled against the base of a statue, stubbing her toe, and she stopped for a moment, grimacing with pain. Perched on a pyramid of blackened brick-shaped objects, the marble mermaid gazed with sightless eyes into a mirror made of some kind of metal. Charity had come across many imposing statues in London, but this piece of sculpture was unlike anything she had ever seen. She supposed it was the whimsical creation of an artist sponsored by one of Sir Hedley's wealthy ancestors, and she wondered what other works of art were hidden in the wilderness that had reclaimed Bligh Park gardens.