Читать книгу Torn - Karen Turner - Страница 9

Summer was well gone and the trees in the park were red and gold, their leaves beginning to fall. The last of the fruit in our orchard was ready and I had agreed to help Simon gather the plums. Dashing quickly to my room, I changed into my favourite attire – a cast-off pair of Simon’s breeches. They were comfortable and practical, affording freedom of movement; I’d wear them all the time if I could, since I regularly tripped on the hem of my dress and earned Anne’s contempt.

I was in a hurry lest Simon began picking fruit without me. Jemima and I bounded down the staircase and on my way along the hall I caught a glimpse of someone in the parlour. Ever watchful for Mrs Grainger, I slowed to a decorous walk and cautiously peeked into the room. Rather than our fearsome housekeeper, I was surprised to find a well-dressed girl about my own age.

“Hello,” I said.

Startled, she whirled around and returned my greeting with a quick curtsy and genuine smile. I decided it would be foolish to curtsy in breeches so bobbed my head in response.

She was wearing a lemon-silk dress with white-lace edging, which did nothing to hide her chubby figure. A white bonnet hung carelessly from one hand and white gloves were scrunched in the other. She cocked her head as she looked at me and, rather than coquettish, the glance was quite charming and entirely artless.

“Hello,” she replied. Her smile made her eyes shine and she had an unfashionable spattering of freckles on her nose.

“I’m Miss Alex Broughton. Is your mother visiting with mine?”

She nodded and her glossy, auburn curls bobbed about her face. “We’ve only just arrived. Is that your dog? I do love dogs – I’d love to have one of my own. May I pat it? Does it bite?”

“This is Jemima,” I said. “She’s a girl, and you may certainly pat her.”

Instantly my acquaintance dropped her gloves and hat on a table and crouched before Jem, whose tongue and tail responded enthusiastically.

Remembering Simon in the orchard, I shuffled restlessly and craned my neck to see through the window though I knew the view didn’t extend that far.

“How long will your mother be?” I asked. The girl straightened and Jemima sat between us looking from one to the other, baring her teeth in a wide grin.

“Oh, she’ll be ages – she can talk forever when she gets started. I was looking for a book or something to read while I waited. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, but … who are you?”

An apricot flush washed the skin beneath her freckles. “Saints alive! You must think me entirely rude! Miss Julia Chapman.”

She extended her hand and we held each other’s fingers as our mothers would do. Her hands were lightly tanned, as were mine, and her eyes were like chestnuts. I liked her instantly.

“I’m supposed to be helping my brother in the orchard. You can come if you like.” She smiled faintly and then to my own surprise, I added, “Do you climb trees?”

Her reaction told me all I needed to know. Her eyes glinted mischievously and her mouth twitched. She said, “Only if you don’t tell Mama.”

I rejoined with an air of solidarity, “If you don’t tell mine. My brother’s waiting. We’re picking plums.”

She winked slyly and gathered her gloves and bonnet. “Then let us get started.”

By the time we reached the orchard Simon had a wooden crate ready. Julia, unlike other girls who met my brother, did not go all daft when I introduced them, and I liked her even more for that. After a quick no nonsense exchange of greetings, we set to work. I scrambled into the aged limbs of the largest tree – a talent I was secretly proud of – and Julia easily clambered up beside me, further winning my approval. She began immediately picking the ripened fruit and placing them in her upturned bonnet.

Simon climbed into the tree beside ours and tied the ends of a net round a narrower branch to form a sling.

The three of us talked between the trees, laughing and swapping stories and before long I felt as though I’d known Julia for years. At times we stopped to eat a fat, ripe plum, and the blood-red juice trickled over our chins and hands.

The Chapmans were from Harrogate. I’d heard of them before – successful business people, though untitled. Hardly my mother’s social equal, however she and Mrs Chapman spent a good two hours together while their daughters scrambled through a number of trees, laughing and chattering like sparrows before we realised that time had escaped us.

Except for the plum-coloured stains inside her bonnet – at which she shrugged, stating happily, “No-one will see,” – and a couple of dusty marks on the skirt of her dress, Julia looked as though she’d spent the entire time in the parlour.

The three of us were waiting innocently on the porch as Mrs Chapman and Mother emerged.

“Oh there you are,” Julia’s mother said. “We were wondering where you’d taken yourself.” Mrs Chapman was taller than Mother, and carried herself with a soft and comfortable grace. Her russet hair and smiling mouth were engaging, and the scattered freckles across her nose were features I’d already noted in her daughter.

“Miss Broughton and Sir Simon were showing me their lovely gardens, Mama,” my accomplice said ingenuously.

“How lovely.” Julia’s mother responded though her eyes skimmed critically over my masculine clothing.

Later, as their coach trundled down our drive, Mother’s experienced eye regarded me with an entirely justified suspicion.

I was sitting in the library window. Open in my lap was a book about Ancient Rome and I flipped its pages absently. My attention was focused directly below where I could see the front porch and the steps leading to the drive. The gravel created a divide between the two halves of our garden.

To my right was an expanse of lawn interrupted by the Great Oak and the wide grassless patch beneath its limbs. On the left was more lawn, a rose garden, and terraced walkways. Six stone steps led to further garden beds; an additional four steps led to the orchard. An ancient stone wall separated the orchard from property owned by our neighbour, Eliard Jackson. Jackson owned the grumpiest black bull alive; such was his scowling demeanour that I was certain the creature was costive and trespassers did so at their own risk.

One of the stable-lads was busily raking the gravel – Mother insisted this was done each morning, and the dry, scrape-scrape sound filtered up to me. The drive curved to the left and disappeared into the thick, green foliage of the birch trees that sheltered our property from the public lane some quarter mile from where I sat. It also served to effectively screen Collings’ cottage from the main house.

Lord Thorncliffe’s children were expected today and I bore the knowledge with thorny resentment toward the changes Mother’s return had wrought.

My mind drifted to the breakfast room that morning. I had been sulkily moving my food around my plate, peeved that my idyllic existence was being so drastically altered. Lord Thorncliffe attempted to catch my eye and offer a conciliatory smile hoping I’d return his approach, but I would not. I was sullen, sour and not pleased with the fact that I was being subjected to a stepfather, stepsiblings, and a newborn brother or sister, in so short a time.

“I am so looking forward to having a new brother and sister, Father,” Anne gushed sycophantically and I rolled my eyes at my plate. “Simon and Alex are exceedingly poor company.” Her mutinous expression challenged me and I glared at her in response.

“Perhaps, Gerrard, this is as good a time as any to …” Mother prompted with a pointed nod of her head in Simon’s direction and I groaned inwardly; not another surprise.

Lord Thorncliffe stammered and reached for his ear and before he could respond, Mother had leapt in, “Simon, Lord Thorncliffe’s son will be staying here only until the university year resumes. It is intended that he continue his law studies at Oxford. Perhaps you should go with him – your future would benefit and I think you’ve probably outgrown Master Baxter.”

I watched my brother curiously. He had been riding the estate early this morning with Collings and held a genuine care for his land and tenants. The latter, perhaps enticed by the young master’s good looks and considerate nature, were quite taken with him and he wore his adult responsibilities well.

Over the years he had casually mentioned following a path into medicine, with no real expectation of the opportunity arising. Given the choice, would he opt to stay here, or would he grasp the chance to go to university? I for one, would be devastated should he leave, and clasped my hands together tightly beneath the linen tablecloth in a silent plea that he would decline the offer.

He was slow to respond, but finally he addressed Lord Thorncliffe. “I think I would like that, Sir. The property is managed well under Collings. It will still be here when I return.”

“Good, good.” Lord Thorncliffe smiled. “Er … We must consider your subjects, of course, and I shall prepare all the paperwork. You should be able to depart for Oxford with Patrick.”

And just like that, the turning upside down of my life was complete. Anne began babbling excitedly about her scholarly brother, while Lord Thorncliffe and Simon discussed the subjects necessary for medicine. Mother reclined in her chair, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face, and when I asked to be excused she nodded in reply.

That had been this morning, and now, as Simon joined me in the library, we sat briefly in companionable silence before he spoke. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be a physician.”

“You hadn’t mentioned it for some time. I thought you had changed your mind.”

“I’d put the idea aside – resigned to remain here, though of course we couldn’t have foreseen the current turn of events, could we?”

“So you’re happy then?”

“Yes I am,” he said, firmly. “And Mother seems pleased.”

“Why wouldn’t she be? Sending their sons to Oxford is what people like Lord Thorncliffe do. Mother has ever aspired to be more than the wife of a mere baronet.”

“And now she’s about to become a countess.” Simon finished.

“And you’re prepared to leave this – your home, your inheritance?”

“Collings has been helping me become more involved with the tenants lately and I rather enjoy it – they seem to like me too.”

I snorted indelicately. “The tenants’ wives and daughters like you. The men respect you because they’ve watched you grow up and know you’re not a brute.”

“But I wasn’t expecting an opportunity like this, Zan. An opportunity to study medicine …”

“So you’ll leave your lands in the hands of a stranger,” I stated, unfairly.

“Collings is no stranger – he knows the place better –”

“Not Collings,” I said with significance and he frowned.

“Lord Thorncliffe? He wouldn’t be involved. Collings will remain in charge and besides, this place is my inheritance – no-one can change that.”

“I suppose not,” I mumbled.

“Why are you upset? Do you think I’ll be so absorbed in anatomy and biology that I’ll not have time to marry you off?”

I thumped his arm playfully. “Don’t be a rat, Simon. I’m in no hurry to bear the brats of some cranky old man so don’t make any plans.”

“And that’s for me as well,” said Anne coming into the room.

“Well now Annie, dear little vixen, the sooner you are foisted on some old fart the better for everyone.”

Simon and I laughed but Anne dropped an elegant curtsy and rose, skirts lifted perfectly as she stepped up to an imaginary dance partner and held out her hand, “Your majesty, I would be honoured to share this dance with you.”

We laughed again but Anne thrust her chin out. “You may laugh now, but there are big things in store for me, I can feel it.” She hugged herself rapturously. “I shall go to court, and ladies will envy me and gentlemen will fall in love with me. And you, dear brother and sister, you’ll be bowing to me.”

Simon and I looked archly at one another and my brother said, “If you say so, Annie.”

“I do, so you’d best be nice to me now, for I won’t forget it if you’re not.”

“Really?” I asked. “So what are these big things that are in store for you, or can you not share them yet?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” she lisped coyly.

Simon nudged me, “Thinks she’s going to ensnare Prinnie and be a king’s favourite.”

Anne looked smug. “Don’t laugh – Jemima get your wet nose off my skirt – you never know what could happen.”

I nodded then. “That’s true, because I’ll wager you didn’t know you were going to fall on your backside in front of Jeffrey yesterday.”

“Oh, be quiet about that!” Anne snapped.

“What’s this?” Simon’s face lit up, mischievously.

“Leave it be, Alex,” my sister warned.

Ignoring her, I said, “Yesterday morning – remember it had rained? Anne and I were walking out past the stables, and Jeffrey was polishing Lord Thorncliffe’s coach.”

“Alex, please don’t. It was embarrassing enough then, don’t have me relive it.”

“I’m sorry, Annie. Simon, you won’t believe this – she lifted her skirt to step over a puddle, and just as she did,” I could barely get the words out for laughing, “she said, ‘good morning Jeffrey’, and at the very moment he looked up, she put her foot into a huge horse turd. She slipped in it – oh, it was so funny!”

By this stage Simon was doubled over with laughter and I was breathlessly gripping my ribs. “She landed, plop, on her arse, right in a great pile of horse-pooh. Jeffrey ran over to see if she was alright, but even he was laughing so hard … she had to sit there in the muck until Jeffrey stopped laughing enough to help her.”

Anne was looking fit to kill. “Well,” she snarled, “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves at my expense,” and with queenly dignity, swept from the room.

Simon and I exchanged glances and broke into renewed laughter. When finally we sobered, Simon said, “Our sister’s going to be a handful. I pity the poor fellow who marries her.”

“Oh, you’re such a hypocrite,” I said accusingly. “You play the gallant with every maid who glances your way. Now that our sister is proving to be a female version of yourself, you have a different view.”

“Perhaps now, but the day I marry it shall be for life. All I’m saying is that Anne is our mother all over again. Haven’t you wondered why she’s the only one of us Mother has ever seemed remotely interested in? It will be all about money and position where our Annie is concerned.”

I pondered his words momentarily. “I hope I marry for love. Promise you’ll not contract me for money or position.”

“It probably won’t be up to me. I expect it will be Mother’s decision.”

This gave me little hope, but what else was there? What else for any well-bred girl my age? A year, perhaps two, before the obligatory London season where I would be presented at court and shown off at an exhausting and pretentious round of balls and parties until a mutually beneficial arrangement could be made with an outwardly suitable stranger. Every girl wanted to marry for love. Plain little Laura Hindley – daughter of one of Mother’s Leeds friends – confided last week while her mother visited mine, that she’d already met her love.

Laura had refused to divulge the identity of her suitor which then prompted a parade of eligible bachelors through my mind. With no result, either for Laura or myself, I decided it was not worth the effort for I had more pressing things to consider – a new brother and sister, Simon going away, Mother with child … only Jemima was constant, my beloved companion. Everything else seemed to be changing and the growing pains were sharp as my childhood began to slip away.

“Look,” Simon interrupted my thoughts. He was pointing toward the drive. “They’re here.”