Читать книгу Master of His Fate - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 9

James walked out of the Malvern, without a backward glance, feeling happy for various reasons. He was glad his mother did not have some deadly illness and that she was safe at home in bed. He was relieved his father had lost that worried look. Matthew had been whistling when he left the stalls. And he was thrilled to be going to see his grandmother.

He hurried along the road, wanting to get there as fast as possible. His grandmother, Esther Marie Falconer, was the most important and influential person in his life. As he was in hers. That he knew to be an absolute certainty, because she had told him so. Although she was careful, discreet, not wanting to hurt his siblings.

James loved his parents, emulated some of his father’s mannerisms and way of dressing; he loved his sister Rossi, now twelve, and his little brother, Eddie, who had just had his ninth birthday. And then there was his wonderful grandfather, who kept an eye on them all. Philip Henry Rosewood Falconer had taught him a lot, especially about geography and the rest of the world. He had even given him a globe on a stand, which James treasured.

Nonetheless, his grandmother was at the top of his list. She was his guiding light; she had taught him to read and write by the time he was four. When he had gone to school in Rochester at that age, his first teacher had been truly impressed by his ability and his intelligence.

James realized, as he headed down the road leaving Camden behind, that it was as busy a morning as usual. There were crowds of men hurrying up to the Malvern, who were obviously stallholders, and women, too, customers out for a bargain.

Mornings and evenings were generally hectic during the week, the streets filled with men and women going to their workplace, and then returning home at the end of the day.

Some of the men waved to him, and he waved back, smiling hugely. These were the stallholders who had their setups near theirs. James had a genial nature and a ready smile. He liked people and made friends easily. In turn, they were attracted to him because of his charismatic personality and handsome appearance.

His grandparents were in service near Regent’s Park, and it was not too far away. James knew he would soon be there, once he had crossed Chalk Farm Road. He was headed in the direction of Marylebone.

He liked Marylebone and knew a lot about the area. His grandmother had told him that the region had been planned and developed by the great Regency architect, John Nash, around 1818, and that his overall architectural scheme had included Regent Street, Regent’s Park, and the beautiful terraces and streets of elegant townhouses close to the park.

It was there that Philip and Esther Falconer lived, in one of those formally designed John Nash townhouses facing Regent’s Park, belonging to their employers, the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague and his wife, Lady Agatha Denby Montague, daughter of Lord Percival Denby, the Sixth Earl of Melton.

Esther Falconer had been born in the Yorkshire village of Melton, which was not very far from the great northern seaport of Hull. At twelve, Esther had been pretty, clever and ambitious, and through her mother’s connection to Lady Agatha’s aunt, she was given a job at Melton Priory.

Esther had been trained to be a lady’s maid, specifically to look after Lady Agatha, the Earl’s youngest daughter, who had then been sixteen. At seventeen Lady Agatha had come out as a debutante, had been presented at Court, and had her first Season in London.

Esther had been with her mistress ever since. Forty-four years, to be precise. Over the years she had risen in the ranks; now she was the head housekeeper at Lady Agatha’s current residences in London and Kent, and proud of her position.

Philip Falconer, a Kentish man, had also gone into service. He had started out as a junior footman, aged sixteen, in the employment of the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague at the latter’s country manor, Fountains Court in Kent. He had also worked at the Regent’s Park house which Mr Montague had purchased several years before his marriage to Lady Agatha.

Esther and Philip had met at this beautiful Nash house in London, where they had soon fallen in love. They had been married from the house and had lived there ever since. Their employers valued them far too much to let them go. Lady Agatha had transformed a set of rooms at the back of the house into a flat for Philip and Esther. It was still their main home, although they had the same kind of quarters at Fountains Court in Kent where their three sons had been born and brought up.

Esther was crossing the back hall when she stopped abruptly. Somebody outside was repeatedly banging the brass door knocker so hard it sounded like thunder.

Rushing to the service door, she opened it to find herself face to face with her favourite grandchild.

Momentarily taken aback though she was, she instantly smiled, reached out and drew him into the house. Then the smile slipped when she asked swiftly, with a small frown, ‘Is there something wrong? Why are you here in the middle of the day, James?’

‘There’s nothing wrong, Grans, not really. Mum’s ill. Dr Robertson says she has a heavy cold, and he gave her a bottle of medicine. He said she should go home to bed. That’s where she is now. Dad sent me for some of your raspberry vinegar concoction, as he calls it. Oh, and some camphor bags.’

‘I understand,’ Esther said, her sudden anxiety dissipating. ‘I’m sure the doctor’s right. Unfortunately summer colds are hard to get rid of, James.’ Putting her arms around him, she hugged him to her. He hugged her back, then stepped away, and said, ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you, Grans.’

‘I’m all right. Though I thought you were about to break the door down with your knocking.’ She gazed at him, her eyes roaming over his face. It had been only ten days since she had seen him, and yet he looked more mature; he was now an inch taller than she was.

Staring back at her, he asked softly, ‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?’

Esther shook her head and a faint smile crossed her face. ‘You’ve changed a bit, and you seem to be, well, more mature. You might be only fourteen, but you are growing up rapidly.’

He smiled at her, and then laughed. And she was dazzled by him … the even white teeth, the natural charm, the most stunning blue eyes, filled with sparkle and life. Women are going to fall at his feet, she thought.

Brushing incipient worry to one side, she now said, ‘Let’s go down to my parlour and I’ll tell Cook to make the raspberry vinegar concoction. She’ll also make you something to eat.’

Esther led James down the long corridor where her parlour was located, Philip’s office, as well as the kitchen and the wine cellars. Showing him into her room, she went to the kitchen to speak to Cook.

Left alone in the parlour, James went and sat in a chair near the window. He liked this room. It was comfortable, nice to be in and full of light.

There was a fireplace, a sofa and chairs, and his grandmother’s desk. She had once explained that it was Georgian, a very good antique piece which Lady Agatha had given her. Basically, the room was an office where Esther did her menus, her household accounts and other paperwork, but she could also relax here between her many duties.

His grandfather’s room was a few doors down the corridor. It, too, had a desk, and was full of books, mostly about wine and the vineyards of France.

Philip Falconer had become an expert on wine over the years, and Mr Montague had allowed him to create a wonderful cellar.

James knew how lucky the whole family was, because of Philip and Esther Falconer. Their very long service in the Montague household protected them all. His father and two uncles worked and made decent livings, but there was, most importantly, the reassuring knowledge that the older Falconers were there for them, should they need help of any kind. Lucky indeed.

People giving over their entire lives to one aristocratic family was not unusual, but James knew his grandparents were kept on also because they were excellent at what they did. In a sense they had become part of the family, were often given many small privileges which were much appreciated. James’s grandparents had many perks because the Montagues thought so highly of them. His grandmother had recently confided that Lady Agatha had told her that she was not the best, but better than the best, and so was Philip. Esther had sounded very proud and pleased when she recounted this to him.

James looked across at the door as it opened and his grandfather came in, a huge smile on his face. Jumping up, James ran to him. They embraced and Philip kissed his cheek before releasing him.

‘What a nice surprise to see you, my boy. I notice that you’ve shot up since I last saw you.’

‘That’s what Father says.’

‘Your grandmother told me your mother’s not well; that’s why Matthew sent you for the raspberry vinegar. He’s all right himself, isn’t he?’

James nodded. ‘Fighting fit, he says.’

Philip seated himself on the sofa, and James took the chair opposite. ‘Has Lady Agatha gone away then?’

Philip smiled, knowing how much James enjoyed the way Her Ladyship fussed over him. ‘She has indeed, with the Honourable Mister and Miss Helena and Master William, plus two maids, the valet, and enough baggage to fill two coaches. Gone to the Riviera to enjoy the sun and the festivities by the sea. They will stay in Nice and then progress to Monte Carlo. They will return in September, unless the Honourable Mister wants to come back in August for the grouse season.’

Esther arrived and announced, ‘Let’s go to the staff dining room and have a bite of lunch.’ Beckoning to them, she went on, ‘Cook has made a cottage pie, and she’s now preparing another one for you to take home, James, and an excellent chicken soup for your mother. Nothing like chicken soup to cure a sore throat.’

Philip and James followed Esther as she hurried down the corridor and into the staff dining room, where they sat down together. They would have it to themselves for the next hour, while the other staff cleaned the house and went about their duties.

For a long time Esther had wanted to discuss the future with her grandson, eager to know if he had any special plans about his work. This was a great opportunity to bring up the subject.

Turning to look at him, her pale green eyes filled with love, she began. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you if you intend to spend your life working at the market with Matthew on the two stalls. Or whether you might have other ideas, perhaps?’

Taken by surprise, James stared at her, his eyes wide, his expression quizzical. He did not answer for a moment. Finally, he said, ‘I don’t know, not really.’

‘It has occurred to me, from time to time, that you love architecture, and I know how intrigued you are about John Nash and his Regency buildings. Grandpa and I would be prepared to send you to school to be trained in architectural drawing, if you want that,’ Esther announced, and sat back in her chair, looking at him expectantly.

He shook his head vehemently. ‘No, I don’t want to be a draughtsman, Grans, but thank you for offering to send me to study – and you, too, Grandpapa. That’s generous of you.’ He was sincere, and this echoed in his voice.

‘What about school in general?’ Philip asked, leaning forward, his entire focus on his grandson. He was aware James was a special boy, highly intelligent, with the kind of class that was bred in the bone. He also had enormous charm and looks, and he was an achiever.

When James was silent, Philip added, ‘There is no pressure from us, James, but think about it, maybe something will come to you. We just want you to understand we are here to support you. The world is opening up for you.’

James nodded, looked at his grandfather intently, thinking how smart he was in his black jacket, pinstriped trousers, pristine white shirt and silver silk tie. The perfectly dressed butler.

His glance was now aimed at his grandmother, also well attired in a long, navy-blue skirt and matching blouse, with a white collar and cuffs. Her luxuriant silvery hair was piled up on top of her head. To him, she was the epitome of tailored elegance.

He knew she was fifty-six, but she didn’t look her age. And neither did his grandfather, who was now sixty. They have worn well, he thought, and suppressed a smile, wondering what they would say if he told them this.

Straightening in his chair, taking a deep breath, James decided to tell them the truth about his dreams. He plunged in. ‘I want to be a merchant,’ he confided. ‘By that I mean I want to own a shop like Fortnum and Mason, or an arcade of shops like the Burlington Arcade in Piccadilly. I want to be the most successful merchant in London! In the world!’ His voice had risen in his escalating excitement and, as he sat back, taking a deep breath, he realized his grandparents were staring at him in astonishment.