The Lost And Found Girl (33 page)

‘I – I have had impure thoughts, sir, about – about—’ He couldn’t say it.

‘Are your impure thoughts of a carnal nature?’

Boyd nodded.

‘Have you acted upon these thoughts?’

‘Oh no, sir, she is – she is – I mean—’ He rubbed the palm of his hand over his face.

The rector seemed relieved. ‘You are praying for forgiveness because you have had carnal thoughts about your sweetheart?’

‘She is not my sweetheart, sir.’

‘She belongs to another?’

‘No, sir! Yes, sir. I mean she is – she is –’ He couldn’t say it because he knew he should not have these feelings. Incest was a heinous sin and the church would not forgive him for such wicked thoughts, not ever. ‘She is young sir,’ he finished lamely.

‘I trust that the maid in question is old enough to wed?’ The vicar sounded so censorious that Boyd protested, ‘Oh yes, sir.’

‘Then God has given you his answer. If you desire her so strongly you must woo her and wed her, my son. Marriage is an institution endowed by God to prevent fornication.’

Marriage? Yes, of course, the rector was right, just as the steward was right. Boyd must remove temptation. But he was her only kin so he could not send her away, or indeed leave himself. Daisy’s sisterly love for him must be diverted to romantic love for another. He would never neglect his responsibilities for her welfare. He would always look out for her, but if she were wed, he would be distanced from her.

He saw now the errors of their upbringing. The cruelty of their parents had driven them together more closely than a brother and sister should be. Running away from home had
thrown them into an even closer alliance. He shut his eyes in shame as he remembered their night at the gamekeeper’s hut.

He had been aware of his weakness for her then. He, too, would have to remove himself from temptation. He must heed the vicar’s words and find himself a sweetheart. But not until his beloved Daisy was secure in the devotion of another. In the darkness, he frowned at the pain these thoughts aroused. A knife was twisting in his heart and he suppressed a strangled sob.

‘You are distressed, my son?’

‘I fear my weakness will be the better of me, sir.’

‘Then pray to our Lord for strength. I, too, shall pray for you and your loved one.’

‘Th-thank you, sir.’

The rector stifled a yawn and rose awkwardly to his feet.

Boyd noticed his gait and asked, ‘Are you quite well, sir?’

‘My bones are weary. But I do not complain for they are not as weary as Lord Redfern’s. Good night, my son.’

‘Good night, sir.’

Boyd went out into the crisp night air. Moonlight picked up a keen frost on shrubs and grass and a black sky sparkled with stars. It was Christmas Day, a time for joy and celebration but his heart was heavy as he contemplated a life without his beloved sister and then choked back a strangled groan that this love he had for her was an evil sin. He hurried along the track to the Abbey stables, his anxiety and shame overcoming any sense of the forgiveness he had prayed for. What kind of man was he to harbour such wicked desires? He broke into a run, felt his breath rasping in his chest and wished he had a horse to ride away his sins. In spite of the cold, sweat trickled down his spine and his hair became damp under his cap.

As he approached the stables he heard singing from his fellow servants. It was not the normal drunken revelry, but the Christmas hymns that everyone knew by heart. He slowed his pace and breathed deeply to quieten his thumping heart. He had a task to complete. If his darling Daisy had to marry, he must make sure her husband would be a good and sober man, with a position and prospects.

He must do his best to ensure her marriage was a happy one. Yes, he would do that first and then … and then he must look to his own future, take the rector’s advice and woo a wife for himself. Perhaps if he directed his urges towards another woman, he might fall in love with her and his love for Daisy would fade. Yes. That was his answer from God. Both he and Daisy must find sweethearts to marry. His breathing subsided as he pondered this solution.

The outdoor servants were sitting on felled tree trunks around a crackling fire to sing their Christmas hymns. A few held lanterns but most warmed their frozen fingers around tankards of mulled ale, served to them by Mr Stanton. It was the custom at the Abbey for his lordship’s family to wait on the servants at their Christmas celebration. As family was in short supply at Redfern Abbey, the senior servants honoured this tradition and were proud to do so. The steward had arranged for hot chestnuts from the kitchens and a wooden tray of pastries made savoury with cheese or spice passed from hand to hand. Boyd sat on the end of a log and joined in the singing. He knew what he must do, but the knowledge did not quell his confusion and uneasiness.

Daisy’s shiny eyes were put down to the cold weather when she reached the butcher’s shop with Mr Stanton. He had not uttered a word to her until he bid her goodnight and a Happy Christmas as he handed her over to Mr Farrow. How could Boyd side with him about marrying when she said she didn’t want it? She thought Boyd loved her. But clearly he loved his position at the stables more. She sighed. She was being unfair. That was not true and she understood why he had to agree.

It’s just that she had not, since her silly childhood proposal to Boyd, given marriage a thought. She didn’t want to marry and she didn’t need to while she had Boyd. He was all she wanted for a husband and, yes, she knew she could not marry him, he had told her so quite firmly when she was eight. However, that didn’t stop her thinking that she would rather be a spinster and live with him than be married to someone she did not love.

She was so used to Boyd being there for her that she hadn’t given their future much thought until now. But the notion that they would be separated if she were forced to marry someone else alarmed her. Who would love her as much as Boyd did? He would lay down his life for her, not that she would ever let him for she felt the same about him. Boyd must know this for how could he not? She had to make the steward understand this and then, surely, he would not insist on a marriage for her.

But it was not love for anyone that was on the steward’s mind, she realised. It was lust. It was Master James’s attraction towards her that had driven him to his decision. She had done her best to keep away from him but as soon as she saw him in church, that familiar thrill had coursed through her. She wanted to return his attentions, get to know him more and to let him woo her. She wanted to explore the unknown territory that was this desire connecting them and – and yes, she knew what he would want from her and it made no difference because she was sure it would be a proper love between them. True love, married love that lasted a lifetime, a love that her young body craved and when she thought of that her common sense deserted her.

She had to trot to keep up with the steward. Mr Farrow was stamping his cold feet and blowing into his cupped hands as he waited outside the shop door for her, but he knew better than to complain to the steward. He said, ‘I trust everything is in order, Mr Stanton.’

‘I need to speak with you about your maid,’ the steward replied. ‘Call into my office at the stables after his lordship’s Boxing Day hunt.’

‘Of course, sir.’ He pushed open the shop door as the
steward went off to collect his horse from the churchyard. ‘What have you been doing, my lass?’

‘Nothing, Mr Farrow. Honest, I haven’t.’

‘Well, something must have gone on for him to want to see me. Whatever it was, don’t you go saying nothing to Mrs Farrow. I don’t want her upset until I know what this is about.’ He looked down at her with a pitying expression on his face. ‘Dear me, lass, you’ve been such a boon to us so far, I hope you’ve not gone and done summat daft. You’d best not venture out without Mrs Farrow until I’ve listened to what Mr Stanton has to say. I’ll not have a scandal linked with my shop.’

‘Boyd promised me a riding lesson tomorrow.’

‘You heard what I said. If you’ve been up to something with one of them stable lads – ee, lass, I thought you knew better.’

Daisy gave up her protest. She knew what people thought when young girls got wed all of a sudden, especially if it was to somebody they hadn’t walked out with. Mr Farrow was going to think the worst when he found out the steward’s plans for her. Mrs Farrow might believe the truth though, Daisy thought wearily as she lit a candle and climbed the creaking stairs to her attic. She would be sorry to leave the butcher’s house. Mrs Farrow had put a wrapped hot brick on top of her nightgown in her bed and Daisy undressed quickly, snuggling down into the warmth. It was Christmas Day already and she dreamed of catching a glimpse of Master James at the Boxing Day hunt.

Mr Farrow, his bulging tummy wrapped in a clean blue apron, stood in front of his shop with a broad smile on his face and wished the compliments of the season to all who passed whether they were buying from him or not. It was
a busy Christmas morning in Redfern Village and the Farrow household was no exception.

Daisy carried the Christmas pudding, well wrapped in a greased cloth, to the pan of water simmering on the range. She had helped Mrs Farrow make it weeks ago and had never seen so many dried fruits go into one pudding. Mrs Farrow had put just as much in the fruit cake that stood in the small parlour beside a slab of crumbly Wensleydale cheese for Christmas tea by the log fire. Daisy thought that the butcher’s wife was justly proud of her pudding for she used a recipe that had come from the Abbey kitchen. She looked forward to tasting it and resolved not to eat too much Yorkshire pudding to begin with so she would have room.

Mrs Farrow was fully occupied cooking Christmas dinner while Daisy fetched and carried for her as well as helping at the shop counter. Beef was still the most popular choice for Christmas dinner in the village, although Mr Farrow told her about the turkeys that the chef cooked at the Abbey. ‘Much bigger than a goose,’ he commented, adding, ‘Too much for the three of us, but I might buy in one or two for the shop next Christmas.’ As the morning wore on she became intoxicated by the mingling smells of burning Yule log and roasting goose that reached every corner of the house. At mid-morning Mr Farrow poured glasses of sherry for all of them and within minutes Daisy’s cheeks were glowing.

Mrs Farrow was more excited than her usual cheerful self as they took their seats to eat a meal that was large compared to their regular Sunday feast. She was to see her son and grandchildren this afternoon and Daisy knew that nothing pleased her more. She had helped Mrs Farrow wrap new toys as presents for the children.

‘You are quiet this morning, Mr Farrow,’ his wife commented. ‘I do hope you’re not coming down with anything.’

‘’Tis nothing, my love,’ he responded. ‘Did the gypsy lad polish up the trap?’

‘He did that. He’s not a gypsy, dearest, he just looks like one. He buffed up the tack and rubbed down the pony, too, and his pa was right pleased with their rib trimmings and suet when he called to collect him.’

‘Have you plenty to keep young Daisy busy while we’re out visiting?’ Mr Farrow asked.

‘She is going over to the stables to see her brother.’

Her employer turned on his serious expression. ‘She saw him last night at church. Didn’t you, lass?’

‘He said he would give me a riding lesson,’ Daisy explained.

‘Oh I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you, lass.’ Mr Farrow stared hard at her until she replied, ‘No sir. The ground is too frosty.’

‘When our own lass were at home,’ he went on, ‘on a Christmas afternoon she made pies to take out to hunt followers on Boxing Day and turned in a tidy penny or two. It stood her in good stead for when she asked for a new gown.’

‘Indeed it did, sir,’ his own wife echoed. ‘And Daisy will be wanting new boots before this winter is out. That is a splendid notion, husband. She will be too busy to be lonely while we are out. Will you leave her a few coppers for the Lucky Birds?’

‘Aye, they’ll be round after dinner as sure as God made little apples.’

This cheered Daisy for she liked children and they sang a Christmas hymn before knocking on the door and adding, ‘We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Please may we be the Lucky Birds here!’

Mrs Farrow smiled at her. ‘We’ll be back before you know we’ve gone and we’ll bring Spanish chestnuts to roast around the Yule log.’

Daisy managed a smile in return. She didn’t mind not having a riding lesson, but she was desperate to see Boyd and talk about last night. She was sure he had been as upset as she by the steward’s plans. Mr Farrow’s insistent stare at her had not been about the riding. It concerned her staying away from the stables until he had spoken with the steward about her apparent misdemeanour.

Mr Farrow continued his paternal control. ‘We shall all go over to the Abbey for the hunt tomorrow. What do you say, Mrs Farrow?’

This seemed to settle the matter and Daisy spent a pleasant enough Christmas afternoon and evening giving her plenty of time to reflect on her reasons for not wedding some estate worker chosen for her by the steward.

Mr Farrow drove his wife and Daisy in the trap with her baskets of pies. It was another sharp day and the grass was crisp underfoot. The sun was out but it never climbed high in the sky at this time of year and there was no warmth in its weak rays. The trap overtook a constant straggle of village folk, shoulders hunched against the cold, walking in the same direction, anxious not to miss the opening spectacle, and already folk were buying her pies.

It really was a very grand occasion, one of the few where servants and villagers were allowed on the parkland in front of the Abbey. Gentry from across the Riding paraded astride beautifully groomed horses with plaited manes and tails and steam pushing from their nostrils, and they champed at their bits impatient to begin their gallop. Incredibly, Daisy thought,
his lordship surveyed the gathering from his Bath chair at the top of the stone steps outside the Abbey entrance.

Master James was there, splendid in hunting pink. He was so dashing and handsome on a fine chestnut horse that Daisy was distracted enough to drop a pie so that it broke apart in her basket. She was too far away for him to notice her and there were hunting ladies in neatly tailored jackets and matching skirts spread attractively over their side saddles to catch his attention.