The Beggar Maid (24 page)

The pain had eased and she hurried on, coming to a sudden halt when she saw Sir Hedley shambling towards her. She was tempted to tell him that Wilmot was in his house, plotting against him, but that would mean breaking her word to Daniel. She quickened her pace and called out to him.

He had seen her but his lowered brow and narrowed eyes were not exactly a friendly greeting. ‘What are you doing out here? I told you to get to work in the library. This isn't a holiday, young lady.'

‘I just wanted a breath of air, but I got lost and found myself in the garden. I was trying to find my way back.'

He grunted something beneath his breath and walked on.

She ran after him. ‘It won't happen again, sir. I'll soon find my way around.'

‘We won't be here that long.' Sir Hedley lengthened his stride. ‘But I need to find Wilmot Barton before I return to London. If I'd known that he was involved in the archaeological dig I would never have sanctioned it in the first place.' He stopped and she almost cannoned into him. ‘I don't suppose you've seen him or the boy, have you? They were seen coming this way about an hour ago.'

‘I've seen no one in the grounds, sir,' Charity said truthfully.

‘They've probably gone to the local hostelry. I'll try there.' He started off again. ‘Follow me, girl. I'll get Parkin to take you back to the library.'

She had to bunch up her skirts and run in order to keep up with him, and she arrived in the kitchen breathless, her petticoat torn to shreds by thorns. Parkin had been turning the handle of the Kent mechanical knife cleaner but he stopped and rose unsteadily to his feet when his master entered the room.

‘Take Miss Crosse back to the library, Parkin. I'm going to the village but I'll be back in time for dinner.' He left without waiting for a response.

Mrs Trevett shook her head. ‘That man is always in a tearing hurry. Sit down, Mr Parkin, and drink your tea. I'm sure that another few minutes won't make any difference.'

Parkin sank back onto the hard wooden seat. ‘If you say so, Mrs Trevett.'

Mrs Trevett beamed at Charity. ‘You look hot and bothered, my dear. I'm sure a cup of tea would go down a treat, and I so seldom get the chance to have a chat with another female. Please sit down and I'll make a fresh brew.'

Charity pulled up a chair. For some reason her legs had turned to jelly, but it was not the effort of keeping up with Sir Hedley that had made her hands shake. The encounter with Wilmot had upset her more than she had thought possible and she felt she had betrayed Sir Hedley's trust by pretending ignorance of Wilmot's presence in the conservatory. ‘Thank you, ma'am,' she murmured gratefully. ‘That would be lovely.'

Mrs Trevett bustled about making the tea in a brown pot with a chipped spout. ‘Mr Parkin tells me that you've come here from London. I've never been there myself, but my friend Fanny Diment writes to me at Christmas and tells me all the goings-on.'

‘You know Mrs Diment?'

‘Yes, my dear. We started here together as girls, but then Fanny was chosen to work for Sir Hedley in his London house. I daresay it's much grander than Bligh Park.'

‘I wouldn't exactly say that,' Charity said tactfully. ‘You seem very comfortable here, ma'am.'

Mrs Trevett cast a critical eye around the kitchen. ‘The range is very difficult to clean and blacklead. It takes the girl all day to do it and I have to help her. We have to survive on bread and cheese that day and water from the well, or small ale. Not that Parkin minds, do you, Mr Parkin?' She left the pot to brew and bustled over to the dresser to fetch two cups, and although the saucers did not match Charity could see that it was fine bone china, no doubt the remains of an expensive set that had once graced an elegant tea table. It was obvious that Bligh Park had seen better days, just like Nevill's Court, and it was sad to see such fine houses in a state of decline.

Mrs Trevett poured the tea and passed a cup to Charity. ‘In the old days I would have had a seed cake in the larder and some biscuits in the tin, but we have to be frugal with the housekeeping, and sometimes we have to rely entirely on produce from the home farm.'

‘We do well enough, Mrs Trevett,' Parkin said severely. ‘We are luckier than most, even if we haven't been paid for the last two quarters.'

‘It's more like a year now, Mr Parkin.' Mrs Trevett sipped her tea. ‘I told Master Harry so and he promised to set things to rights, but then he had a bit of bother with the police.'

‘That's idle gossip, Mrs Trevett.' Parkin stopped turning the handle of the knife cleaner and began taking the knives out one at a time. ‘Master Harry has gone abroad for his health. We don't know any more than that.'

Mrs Trevett tossed her head and her mobcap tipped over one eye. She righted it with an impatient flick of her fingers. ‘Someone lied,' she said, pursing her lips. ‘Someone had it in for him, if you want my opinion. Master Harry may be a bit too fond of the horses and the gaming tables but he's not dishonest. I'll never believe bad of him. He was a lovely little boy, and I've always said that nice boys grow up into nice men.'

‘Even nice men can fall foul of the law, Mrs Trevett.' Parkin placed the knives carefully in a velvet-lined box. ‘But, having said that, I don't believe that he did wrong. There are some people who would like to see him discredited and disowned so that they can get their hands on the estate and the treasure of Bligh Park.'

Charity almost choked on her tea. ‘Is there really a treasure?'

‘It's just a silly old legend,' Mrs Trevett said, sniffing. ‘I'm sure it would have been found years ago if there had been anything. They say that wreckers worked the coast round here, and that they sunk many a ship and buried their hoards in the grounds of Bligh Park.'

‘Well, they're digging away in the ten-acre field.' Parkin rose to his feet and took the box to the dresser, stowing it away in one of the drawers. ‘They're said to be looking for the remains of a Roman villa, but we think different, don't we Mrs Trevett?

She nodded emphatically. ‘We do, Mr Parkin.'

He rose to his feet, shaking first one leg and then the other. ‘I'm a bit stiff these days,' he said by way of explanation. ‘Rheumatics caused by the damp.' He continued his strange dance until he seemed satisfied that he could move without too much difficulty. ‘Now then, miss. If you've finished your tea, I'll show you back to the library. I'll come and fetch you when it's time for dinner. We eat earlier than Sir Hedley.'

‘A young lady who is good with books ought to eat in the dining room,' Mrs Trevett said, refilling her cup with tea. ‘Would you like another, my dear? I'm sure Parkin will give you a minute or two.'

Charity stood up. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Trevett. That was just what I needed, but I'd better get back to work. I'll see you at dinner.'

That night, in a small attic bedroom with Mrs Trevett's snores penetrating the wall that separated them, Charity fell asleep despite the storm that lashed the house with rain and gales that threatened to rip the tiles off the roof. She dreamed she was in a sailing ship that was being tossed about on mountainous waves. She clung to the rails, too terrified to go below, and the vessel lurched, prancing like a Lipizzaner stallion as they were flung against a huge rock. Drenched and terrified, Charity looked up and saw the marble mermaid come alive. Her long tresses billowed about her white face and her cold lips curved in a smile. She beckoned to Charity, luring her ever nearer. Then a wave crashed over her and she awakened to find rainwater pouring through a gap in the ceiling directly above her head.

She tumbled out of bed, landing in a heap on the bare floorboards. A flash of lightning was followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder and the door to her small room burst open. In the guttering light of a candle she saw the outline of a male figure. She opened her mouth to scream.

‘CHARITY?' HARRY KNELT
down beside her. ‘You're the last person I expected to see here. Are you all right?'

The scream had frozen in her throat and she could only nod her head. The nightmare still held her in its eerie clutches, and the shock of seeing Harry had temporarily rendered her speechless. He helped her to her feet. ‘You're soaked to the skin. I don't know who put you in this room but they should have known better.' He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her.

The warmth of his body still clung to its folds and the familiar scent of him reminded her of her birthday when he and Wilmot had taken her out to dinner and the theatre. ‘You're always giving me your jacket,' she murmured. ‘But I'll make it wet.'

‘Let me worry about that. Let's get you somewhere warm and dry and you can tell me how you came to be here.'

She did not argue as he led her down the back stairs to the kitchen. He pulled a chair close to the range and made her sit down while he raked the embers into life. ‘I know where Mrs Trevett keeps the cocoa,' he said, grinning. ‘A cup of something hot will soon warm you up.'

Huddled in his jacket with the warmth seeping into her chilled bones, she had the feeling that she was still in the middle of a dream. ‘I thought you'd gone abroad.'

‘I did, and I spent some time in France, but I returned a week ago and went to visit my mother in Devon.' He took a jug of milk from the larder and poured some into a saucepan, placing it on the hob.

‘Then why all the secrecy? Why didn't you tell anyone that you'd come home? Or are you still hiding from your creditors?'

‘I went to Paris to try to recoup some of my losses, but I should have known better. I lost more than I won.'

She shook her head. ‘You aren't a stupid man, so why do you continue to gamble when you know very well you'll lose in the end?'

‘I don't know,' he said humbly. ‘I suppose I live in hope.' He made the cocoa and placed a brimming cup on the table in front of her.

‘I'm sorry, but you ought to know better, and it's very selfish behaviour. You've left your family to pick up the pieces.'

‘They're better off without me. Anyway, I'm leaving first thing in the morning. I only stopped by to collect some of my clothes, and then I'll be off again. I might not return for some time.'

Her anger evaporated as she sensed his distress even though he was attempting to disguise his emotions behind an outward show of bravado. ‘I don't understand why you don't get on with your father. He's a difficult man, but he was kind enough to allow us to stay in his house.'

‘You're the first person to call him kind,' he said, chuckling. ‘Maybe we're too alike to get on together.' His smile faded. ‘Are you feeling better now? You're still very pale.'

‘I'm almost dry and I'm nice and warm.'

‘What on earth were you doing sleeping up in the servants' quarters in the first place? I don't understand why Mrs Trevett didn't put you in one of the guest rooms?'

‘I am a servant, Harry. I work for your father in return for my board and lodging, as do Violet and Dorrie.'

‘I didn't think he'd use you as slave labour. I don't suppose the old devil has paid you a wage.'

‘He hasn't paid any of the servants for a long time. They stay out of loyalty and because they can't afford to leave.'

He met her angry gaze with a rueful smile. ‘I suppose you think it's my fault.'

‘Yes,' she said, looking him in the eyes. ‘I do. I don't think that running away solves anything.'

‘I wouldn't be much use if I were locked up in jail.'

‘Then why don't you get a job and earn some money? That's what other people do.'

‘There's very little I could do.' He held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘I was born a gentleman, not a navvy.'

‘That's no excuse. Your father is desperate to raise funds. He asked me to go through his library and select the books that would raise the most money.'

‘He must be in trouble if he's willing to part with even one of his precious collection.'

She hesitated for a moment, unsure as to whether or not to tell him the real reason for his father's sudden decision. She took a deep breath. ‘Sir Hedley is in a panic because he thinks that you want to have him declared incompetent and that he'll be locked away in a lunatic asylum.'

Harry's dark eyebrows snapped together in a frown. ‘That's simply not true. I've never done anything to hurt the old man. He's not the best parent in the world, but he's still my father and I can hardly blame him for mishandling the family fortunes when I'm just as bad.'

‘Then who's spreading these lies? Why would anyone want to discredit you or Sir Hedley?'

‘I'm sure he has a theory of his own. Hasn't he told you anything about our family?'

‘He told me a little about your mother.'

‘When I visited my mother in Devonshire I learned that my stepfather had been killed in a hunting accident two months ago, and that she had handed the running of the estate to Wilmot. Dan protested, of course, thinking that he was Sir Philip's son and heir, but he's under age and there's nothing he can do about it until he reaches his majority.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘My mother told me the whole sordid story. For years she's been living a lie and at last she's admitted the truth.'

‘I can tell by your expression that it must have been something upsetting.'

‘This is strictly between us, Charity. I want you to promise not to tell anyone.'

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.'

‘Mother left us when I was just three. She persuaded my father to grant her a divorce so that she could marry Sir Philip, but what she didn't tell Sir Philip was that she was already expecting a child.'

‘Are you saying that Sir Hedley is Dan's father?'