Читать книгу The Master Of Calverley Hall - Lucy Ashford, Lucy Ashford - Страница 12

Chapter Four

The dealers, as they departed, had left the big front doors wide open. The sunshine was bright outside, highlighting the rainbow colours of Isobel’s cotton frock and the pink ribbons decorating her overlarge straw bonnet. Already Haskins was speaking sharply to her; Connor walked steadily towards them both, just as Haskins turned to him.

‘This person, sir—’ Haskins indicated Isobel ‘—says she needs to speak with you urgently. I am, of course, telling her that you are extremely busy at present—’

Connor broke in. ‘That will be all, Haskins. Please leave us.’

He was looking at Isobel as he spoke. Her eyes met his, dark-lashed, green-gold and defiant; he remembered once more the midsummer fair and the way the sun had glittered on her long blonde hair and her cheap dress. Remembered, too, all the things he’d heard about her.

Could she be a possible schoolteacher? No. She was a walking scandal.

‘Miss Blake,’ he said coolly. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’

He saw how she immediately registered the sarcasm of that last word—honour. She blinked, then looked at the footmen heaving chairs and oversized mirrors up the stairs. She turned back to him. ‘Oh, dear. I’m intruding. Aren’t I?’

‘You are,’ he agreed.

She caught her breath and he thought he saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes, though it was gone in a minute. ‘I couldn’t think,’ she said at last, ‘of anyone else to tell.’ And she smiled and shrugged, but he saw how she was clasping her hands together and her voice was a little too bright.

This was how she used to be, he remembered suddenly, when she used to visit me at the forge. Making a huge effort to hide her emotions, after being upset by something her unspeakable father had said or done.

‘You may as well tell me,’ he answered coolly, ‘since you’re here.’

She nodded, drew in a deep breath and said, ‘It’s about the children.’

He felt a stab of surprise that her thoughts had been running in exactly the same direction as his. ‘You mean the Plass Valley children?’

‘I do. The older children have been helping their parents to gather in the hay at Mr Bryanson’s farm. But the little ones—they were playing by the river further down the valley this morning, doing no one any harm, when some of the village men came up to them and threatened them, saying...saying...’

She’d lost control of her voice, he realised. ‘Saying what?’ he prompted.

She steadied herself. ‘These men said they were filthy scum and they should get back to where they came from. The children ran, of course. They were very frightened. I’d been shopping in the village and came across them as I walked home...’ Her voice faltered again, but she steadied herself and carried on. ‘Some of the little ones were crying. The older ones told me what had happened. I didn’t know what to do, to be honest, but then I remembered how you defended them at the fair. And I thought you might be able to think of some way to help them, because...’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Because I was once considered filthy scum myself?’ he said levelly.

He saw her flinch. Then she braced herself again and said steadily, ‘I’m sorry. Clearly I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.’ She glanced at the footmen hauling a large chaise longue through to the drawing room. ‘I can see you have far more important things to see to. Good day to you, Mr Hamilton.’ And she turned to go.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Were any of the children hurt?’

She pushed back a strand of hair that had strayed from under her bonnet. ‘Two little girls grazed their knees as they tried to run away and the youngest boy has a sprained wrist from where a man swung him around. I took them to the doctor in the village, who very reluctantly tended their injuries. But when I asked him if he would help me take action against those—those bullies, he refused. Nobody will help them!’

He said, quietly, ‘You must have had to pay the doctor. Did you?’

Her eyes flashed. ‘Yes, but it really does not matter!’

‘Wait a moment,’ he cut in, ‘while I fetch money to repay you and to perhaps buy some food for their families.’

She flushed at that and her eyes sparkled defiance. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you are taking your role as lord of the manor seriously, aren’t you? It’s very generous of you to offer charity—but they need rather more than charity, Mr Hamilton!’

‘I believe you told me so at the fair,’ he said.

‘Yes, and I’ll say it again. They need someone to defend them! And I realise—’

She broke off. She was clenching her hands, he saw. Little spots of colour burned in her cheeks, and beneath that worn and shabby frock her breasts heaved. Clearly she was making a huge effort to calm herself and when she spoke again her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear her.

‘I realise,’ she went on, ‘that I am probably the last person on earth who should come to you asking for favours.’ She lifted her head, and he saw her green eyes were very clear. ‘But I do not want your money. In fact, I can see that by coming here today I have made another grave mistake and I’ve already taken up quite enough of your time. I will bid you good day, Mr Hamilton!’

‘Stop,’ Connor said urgently. ‘Wait.’ But she was already hurrying down the steps, that ridiculous pink-beribboned bonnet bobbing as she set off along the drive.

He could have pursued her. But instead he stood there, frozen by memories. I realise that I’m probably the last person on earth who should come to you asking for favours.

In his youth he had not borne her any dislike for being Sir George Blake’s daughter—on the contrary, he used to feel the utmost pity for her. But since then, she’d allowed herself to sink so low that even the local tattle-mongers had grown weary of spreading her story.

Yet still she was as outspoken as ever. And those clothes!

He had no need to think about her any further. She was nothing to him, of no importance whatsoever; the whole community scorned her. And yet she was the only one of that community to defend those children. She was the only one with the courage to care...

No. He rubbed his clenched fist against his forehead. The faint lavender scent of her lingered in the hall and it was delicate, it was haunting, it made him think things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking. Like—how sweet she would be to kiss. And to hold, and to caress. And suddenly a vivid picture shot into his mind of him exploring the satiny, secret places of her slender body, possibly on that very bed the footmen were struggling to get up the stairs just now...

‘Mr Hamilton, sir!’ Haskins’s voice banished Connor’s vision in an instant. ‘Mr Hamilton,’ went on Haskins importantly, bustling towards him, ‘there are several items of furniture we need to ask you about. We’re not quite sure where they belong.’

Again Connor tried to rub the tension from his forehead. Where did he belong, exactly? And why did he, all of a sudden, feel so damned dissatisfied with this new life of his? Why did he feel right now as if the acquisition of wealth and power were like prison chains, in which he was becoming more and more entangled?

‘Very well, Haskins,’ he replied at last. ‘Lead the way.’

* * *

Isobel hurried down the drive, feeling quite dizzy with dismay. She had been stupid beyond words to have come to the Hall and Connor Hamilton had looked at her with a coldness that had chilled her blood. She lashed herself inwardly as she walked, remembering with a shiver how his eyes had run with casual contempt over her flowered print frock, her face and her bare arms. All she’d wanted was for him to help the children—because she’d thought he might care.

And all she wanted now was to be as far away from here as possible. But the children! Their plight had upset her desperately and, while wondering last night what on earth she could do to help them, her mind had suddenly flown to Connor. She’d hoped that whatever he thought of her, he might still feel pity for the children.

She’d tried to say as much to Joseph and Agnes before setting out on this visit, though they’d expressed strong doubt, saying they’d heard Mr Hamilton was a hard and a ruthless man. But Isobel had carried on regardless—and she was wrong. She should have heeded the Molinas’ warning. Now that she was safely away, she paused to glance back at the Hall, with all its daunting immensity, and remembered that this was the place she’d once called home, though in truth she’d grown to hate it.

Billy, who drove the carrier’s cart, had dropped her off at the lodge gates. He’d told her he had deliveries to make to a couple of farms farther on. ‘But I’ll pick you up on my way back, Miss Isobel,’ he’d promised cheerily. ‘I’ll be here at the gates around noon.’

She was early, so she decided to leave the broad drive and take a slightly longer route through Calverley’s parkland. That would, she hoped, give her time to calm herself before meeting Billy. But as she approached a woodland dell, she was halted in her tracks by a child’s voice calling, ‘Bring it to me, Jack! Good boy! Good boy!’

Hesitating between the trees, she glimpsed Elvie, throwing sticks for her puppy. The little girl’s voice was steady, but Isobel could see that her cheeks were wet with tears.

It’s none of my business, Isobel told herself. It’s got nothing to do with me. I’ve done enough interfering for one day. But the puppy was already scampering towards her and now Elvie had seen her, too. ‘It’s you,’ she exclaimed, ‘the lady from the fair! Little Jack, look who it is!’

She’d scooped her puppy up and was burying her nose in his fur, but not before Isobel saw that tears were trickling down her cheeks. Isobel touched her arm gently. ‘My dear. Why are you crying?’

The little girl’s tears welled up anew as she gazed up at Isobel. ‘It’s because I—I miss my father so!’

Isobel wanted to hug her, hard. Instead she led her to a nearby bench and sat next to her, while Little Jack settled forlornly at his young mistress’s feet. Isobel was trying to remember everything she’d heard about Elvira Delafield. Her mother died a month after she was born; her father died of a heart attack six months ago. Her grandmother is her only living relative...

‘I think,’ Isobel said, ‘that you’re very brave, Elvie. And I’m really glad you’ve got Jack to keep you company. You’ve got your grandmother, too, haven’t you?’

Elvie was trying to rub her tears away. ‘Yes. Grandmother is lovely, but she gets tired and sometimes I feel lonely.’ She swallowed a fresh sob.

Isobel looked around. ‘Do you know, I remember a girl who once lived here.’

‘At the Hall?’

‘Yes. She was sometimes lonely, too, but she did have one friend. He might not have realised it, but she depended on him, a great deal.’

Elvie was gazing up at her. ‘And is she still friends with him?’

Isobel felt something hot and tight gathering inside her. ‘Sadly, no. You see, Elvie, sometimes things happen as you get older. There was a misunderstanding. But when she was young and alone, he was there for her. And she will never, ever forget that.’

Elvie was wide-eyed. ‘And has this girl got friends now?’

‘Yes, she has.’ Isobel was thinking of Agnes and Joseph. ‘Just like you, Elvie. You have people who care for you very much and always will. Your grandmother, and Connor, too—I could see how good he was to you at the fair—’

She broke off, because she’d suddenly realised they were visible here from the upper storey of the Hall and she thought she’d glimpsed a face at one of the windows.

‘I must go now.’ She rose swiftly from the bench. ‘But as I said, I’m sure Connor wants the very best for you. I’m sure he’s extremely kind.’

And Isobel left, with her own words echoing again and again in her head.

* * *

He used to be kind. He’d been her secret hero. But things had changed—he was a successful man now, with power and money. As for her, whatever kind of future she’d expected for herself, it wasn’t this.

Since London, she’d told herself she didn’t care in the least what people thought of her. But everything had changed, catastrophically, that day when she’d met Connor at the fair. It was the same again today, when she confronted him so disastrously in the place that used to be her home. She’d felt her carefully built defences crumble away as she stumbled over one word after another. It was plain that he’d formed his own rock-solid opinion of her character, and he’d never given her one chance to defend herself.

* * *

She had made a terrible mistake visiting the Hall. And her nightmare day wasn’t over yet, because as soon as Billy dropped her off at the Molinas’ farmhouse, Agnes came hurrying out. ‘Oh, Isobel!’ She had clearly been weeping.

‘Agnes, what’s happened?’ Isobel felt her heart thudding. ‘Is Joseph ill?’

‘No. But we’ve had a letter from our landlord, saying that our rent is overdue. And this is our last warning!’

‘But surely Joseph always pays the rent on time?’

Agnes’s eyes brimmed with fresh tears. ‘He’s just told me that he hasn’t paid it for two months—he hasn’t the money! And the landlord’s letter says the next letter we get will be from his lawyer. Oh, Isobel, if we have to leave here, I don’t know where we’ll go, how we’ll live...’

Isobel put her arm round her. ‘Agnes. Don’t cry. I’m sure there will be something we can do.’

But her heart was pounding with dread.